Moms

For many years, my mother was the enemy. She was the authoritarian figure who made sure that bedtimes were kept, wet clothes were hung up properly, and brussels sprouts were consumed.

In reality she never gave me a bedtime, but you get the gist.

For years, I had to maintain a facade with her because having my mom be privy to my actual life was disasterous. You can't enjoy bad TV, dirty magazines, and long drawn out conversations about what you desire to do with the trampy chain-smoking ex-cheerleader in your social studies class when your mother is around. It's just not done.

I honestly don't know what she thought of me. She knew I had my secrets. I tried continuously to stay at least two steps ahead of her snooping and investigation.

She didn't even know when I quit my job. I had relegated her to far enough away that I could show her only what I wanted her to see.

But my mom is smart. I remember sitting in a restaurant in Altoona several years ago as we had the conversation that made me realize what a great person she was. I was no longer the delinquent son trying to cover anything up and present a false image. I was a grown man finally appreciating that the doddering killjoy who raised me was actually a real woman who loved me and was happy to see where I'd gotten myself off to in life. She's still smart.

I had a long talk with her on the phone last night, and a lot of it felt like going from 0 to 60 into a brick wall. I had been drinking, and I'm fairly certain that this had a nontrivial impact on how completely open and honest I was with her last night.

Now my mom knows everything. It feels good to come clean, because I feel that there are entirely too many secrets in the world. I do not wish to propagate them any more.

So now she knows where I am, where I'm going, and how I feel. I've told her the things I've done that I'm proud of in my relationship, and I told her the things I regret. And she is OK with them both. I love my mom. I hope she knows how much I love her.