Sunday Scribblings: A Mother's Love?

His mother sat at the patio table, listening to her son’s friends tell her about his exploits. A big shebang for his 30th birthday. Her half-full Mai Tai sweating in Portland’s unseasonably warm summer sun. The story of her son singing Like a Virgin in suicide karaoke. The story of how he met his remarkably beautiful wife at a baseball game by snagging a foul ball out of his future wife’s hands. But anyone who knew his mother – these friends did not – knew that she enjoyed being the center of attention at the expense of all else. And so she started in on a story.

‘There was a time I remember when little Danny was turning seven. He was so excited about the party that we were to have at our house. A pool party. Baseball in the backyard. Pool. His father and I were exhausted from the planning. All the goody bags. The cake. Even a clown. But a strange thing happened. His friends’ parents began calling one by one. Henry couldn’t come because he was going to his grandparents’. Mike had a doctor’s appointment. Sarah had gotten into trouble. And then there was no one left. Little Danny started crying. No, sobbing. He broke a few of his gifts – and I told him we weren’t replacing them. Locked himself in his room after the clown showed up. He never seemed the same after that. Just a little lost for the rest of elementary school. All the way up to high school. It was a shame.’

She ended the story having won her victory. Her son had vanished into the house with his wife. And she had his friends’ undivided attention. She told stories well into the night.