I Have a Crazy Mother

Well, she’s not crazy in a psychotic or delusional way (although I might have thought she was when I was in my mid-teens). Rather, she acts crazy sometimes in a bombastic or pseudo-humorous way. My mother is a bigger-than-life personality; more like a force of nature kind of person. If she were a hurricane, she’d be a category 4. Physically, she’s not that imposing: mid-50s, quite tall, but slim and fit. She’s actually very attractive and although her hair is graying now, it was once almost jet black like her still-expressive dark eyes and her wide, beautiful smile. But it’s always been my mom’s voice that got my attention. She has a lovely, melodious voice that is smooth as silk at a low volume and almost glass shattering when she gets excited (which is almost all the time).

To say that my mother is gregarious is a severe understatement. She will engage anyone, anywhere in conversation and has the unique way about her that makes everyone she speaks to feel as though they’ve known her forever. Truth is, I used to hate accompanying her anywhere because she would make any number of friends as we moved slowly and laboriously from Point A to Point B. At the time, this was a keen embarrassment to me. I hated being the center of attention and my mother was always drawing attention to us. Why couldn’t she be like other moms?—drive to Whole Foods or Walgreens, park, go in, do your business, come out, go home—simple. And church? Church became a marathon event, not because of the length of the sermon, but because mom needed to visit with Kristen, and Molly, and Bettie Lou, and Nancy, and . . . every woman in the church it seemed! The only thing standing between the end of the service and starvation for my brother and me was the fervent hope that dad had brought a separate car.

But, isn’t it funny how a few years change your attitude? For over twenty years, my mom was a special education teacher. It was her responsibility to reach and teach young adults who were often severely physically and emotionally disabled. Occasionally, I would accompany her to her classroom where I would see, without fail, a half dozen special ed kids who would run up to her and embrace her and kiss and coo over her and then that melodious voice would ring out and the little brood would settle into their seats enraptured by its calming effect. Slowly, it began to dawn on me what a privileged person I was in that, I got to hear that voice probably more than anyone and I realized that my mom wasn’t so crazy or annoying after all.