Friday, November 4, 2011

Right Hook

My mother lives with strangers. They (we) may know her name and they (we) may call her Mummy, but we are strangers.

Today, when she stumbled across a French workbook that I'd left on the dining table hoping to have her work some exercises, she wondered aloud whose it might be. Stumbling (as usual) into the trap, I offered that it was hers. The look on her face is hard to describe. Let's just say she was stunned that anyone here would know her well enough to buy such a thing for her. "Mummy," I said, "I am your child. You gave birth to me 46 years ago." "Excuse me?" she replied, with that you-have-to-be-joking look on her face. Ah yes. There it is. Right hook. Great contact. She's down for the count.....................

If I had tears, I would shed them. There will come a time when this is beyond me. I see that clearly. There are only so many punches to the face one can take without losing some teeth or getting a concussion or something. I'm just sayin'. 

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