I picked mom up at the airport yesterday as she came into town for Gloria's book signing party tonight. We kicked around the hood and then headed home. She brought with her a huge suitcase of stuff from my past. She's cleaning out her house in preparation to moving to Portland soon. In the big black suitcase, were some really classic finds. Like my Halloween costume from 1975, when I was 1 1/2. I put it on and could still wear it! (It's a little red riding hood hood.) Stuffed animals from when I had the typical unicorn obsession. But the best, most fabulous surprise from the suitcase was my baton.
I saw the sparkling edge poking out from behind the packing material and I snatched it up, immediately ignoring everything else in the room. The metal rod flipped and twisted through my fingers. Kinetically remembering threading the tube through my finders. Thumb-tosses. Wrist flips. Your standard horizontal twirling. I could not stop. My body could not stop.
Later we went to dinner where mom got to meet the love. At Electric Lotus we had a great spread of spicy dishes. As the eating winded down, mom pulled out the personal stories. Your parents always have them. The story of breaking my brother's arm, of being a strong willed child, favorite restaurants (Indian and Thai), words of wisdom. I'm sitting between my mom and Sam, cringing, wondering, if he'll still love me after or in spite of those stories. Stories that show parts of my personality that few have experienced. (Ahhh, family.)
Still though, these stories of myself, the ones I can't quite remember, but my mother can, are a boon to me. The show my true colors, on some level, that I myself maybe could not see. I've matured many of these characteristics, shaped them into who I am today. But it's good to see what the seeds were and where they were laid down.
My mom is great for telling stories about us that NO ONE remembers. We think she gets them from her dreams. Or some really bad wine.
Posted by: e d scott | December 01, 2005 at 08:30 PM