Today is my mom’s birthday. How old would she have been (you might ask)? The answer is we don’t know. Just look at her birth certificate (you might say). Which birth certificate (I would respond)? We have three. All have the same day of the year, November 15. Each has a different birth year.
I’ve written a lot about my mom over the years, shown a lot of pictures of her. She was my dad’s favorite photographic model after all, we have tons of them, and he was an outstanding amateur photographer. He preferred “candids” which in my dad’s eye were picture taken in the most awkward possible circumstances.
I can’t tell you how much I miss my mom. Not only was she my mother, she was one of my best friends and I hope she would have said the same. I frequently sought her advice and vice versa. I have enormous respect for her and the challenges she overcame. In a very real sense it is to the challenges my parents overcame that I became the person I am today, for good or ill.
The other evening my wife and I were watching Jeopardy and, when the winner failed to figure out the phrase in Final Jeopardy, I turned to my wife and said, “Well, obviously he did not have a mother who was a remedial reading teacher.” I learned to read based on the shape of the words. In school I learned phonics; from my mom I learned whole word recognition. It has been a good combination. I still think of her at least daily.
At any rate, Happy Birthday, Mama! I love you.
