All About My Mother

Another Mother's Day is here and it's another year that I have failed to get a card. I always call, of course, and Mom says it's OK -- it's better to hear in person, etc. -- but, still. It's not that I haven't been thinking about getting a card for the last couple of weeks ("This is the year," I say) but then, like getting a haircut, it just doesn't happen quite in time. And then Sunday arrives...

So, thanks, Mom, for understanding that I'm forgetful and a bit of a procrastinator, for always treating me like what I had to say was important, for telling me I have a nice singing voice, for being a good storyteller, for always having treats of one kind or another on the counter, for not being overly concerned about things like watching television, for telling me to look words up in the dictionary, for having an excellent sense of humor, for being concerned instead of mad when I did something really wrong, for loving Nancy and Trinity and David even though I have a habit of not introducing you to future family members until the deal is done, for riding with me on the go-karts when I was too small to go alone, for letting me listen to all that loud music when I was a kid, for recognizing that the trumpet was not my instrument, for recognizing that the drums were, for singing "Happy Birthday" on the phone every year, for sandwiches in brown paper bags, for Easter baskets in semi-hidden places, for a trip across the country in a station wagon, for putting up with absolute goofiness, for being devout (and being understanding about the fact that I am not), for being consistent, for being a little goofy yourself, for liking a good stiff drink every now and then, for modeling moderation, for being complex, for being good, for being kind, and for being unconditionally devoted to your family.

There's a lot more things I could say, of course, but I have to save something for that card I'm going to get you next year.

Happy Mother's Day from the gang in Terre Haute: