lullaby

my mom never taught me to cook because she thought i was a disaster. i never had that intuitiveness to know what "some" meant in a recipe. she didn't teach me to sew because she didn't really learn herself until she made me a formal dress my senior year of high school. dad taught me to drive after mom realized that a big yellow ford ltd and jj highway and me at almost sixteen was a horrible combination.

i learned to tell a good story while sitting on the floor in any room my uncle jay might be in with my mouth shut and my ears open. i learned from one grandma the names of flowers and the way to tell quality fabric from polyester blends. i learned from another that sometimes just looking at a big wooden box full of oil paints and little bottles of linseed oil is intoxicating. dad dragged science into the house in every way imaginable, told us the names of rocks and showed us the stars. i learned the value of a good long walk from one grandpa, the value of a soft lap and butterscotch candy from another and that you will never be prepared to hear an warning about how you should never try cocaine based on the personal experience of a seventy year old from a third grandpa.

but what i did learn from my mom is that iced tea is never so good as when it is in a glass that belongs to someone else. and that if you grow mint right outside the front door, you will always have some for your glass of tea. home cooked food, no matter the fat or calorie count, is better for you than something in a box or bag or microwaveable pouch. you should always know where your children are but you should not always be looking at them. flowers in the house are important, even if they are weeds or things you picked in the park or bought for a few bucks at the grocery store. telling a group of fifth grade boys you are a witch is fine as long as you also tell them you only use your powers to help people and keep fifth grade boys in line.

mostly, though, she taught me to open my big fat mouth and say what i think. especially if i think i might have to say it alone. especially if it might make others uncomfortable. this comes up most often at school. it gets me in trouble as often as it doesn't. i make people cry. students. parents. because not all folks are comfortable with honesty and not all folks are comfortable with fairness. and at night when other people who live all twisted up inside themselves because they don't speak up are tossing and turning, wallowing in guilt at having ignored some ugliness, wallowing in what-ifs, i sleep like a baby. which is funny, i guess, because for the first two years i lived in the world i don't think i ever slept at all.

thanks, mom. i like being me. and i really like not having to cook.