BOOMER MOTHER’S DAY MEMORY GUIDE

Which Day Is More Important Than Boomer Mother’s Day?

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day in America.

The rest of the world? Not so sure.

All the moms out there deserve their day. No doubts about it.

But when it’s your mom, and she’s passed, like so many boomers’ moms, the day drives those feelings right to the front.

Do you find yourself asking if you were a good son or daughter for your mom?

She did her mom part. You did your kid part. How does it match up now?

In strict boomer fashion, it’s all good. You can’t change anything, but you can adjust memories.

Your momma is in your head for life, leave plenty of room.

How do you adjust memories of mom on Mother’s Day?

Start now.

When you were a little kid like the one above and you had brothers and sisters who were too noisy sometimes, mom needed a break.

In the middle of chaos she yelled she can’t take it anymore and said she’s running away.

Leaving kids to fend for themselves, or teaching a valuable lesson?

Mom tells you she’s leaving, then does it. It’s a stunning development, so stunning that everything stops.

In the quiet house you look for mom and she’s not there.

She always knew you were there; she could hear you. Now you can’t hear her.

You wait it out for hours, but it’s really ten minutes, then you get together with your siblings and make a plan.

All of you go to the next door neighbor’s house to tell them your mom is gone and your dad’s at work, or school, and you don’t know what to do.

You’re really there for cookies and milk…and mom.

And you find your mom there at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee smiling.

She’s proud of your resourcefulness. You tracked her down. More important, you’re all quiet.

Everyone goes home together to start over. It’s a happy morning.

Boomer Mother’s Day memory adjustment is working.

During junior high school the varsity football team is awful. Can’t seem to win a game.

The team is whipped and beat week after week.

During warm up drills before a home game one player came out on the field late.

They didn’t take a three point stance and knock heads or go with the skill guys and practice catching the ball.

Instead they stood behind the lineman and kicked them in the butt before the snap.

They stood next to the receivers and smacked them while the ball was in the air.

One of your friends ran over to the team bench and back with the news.

That player kicking and slapping? It’s your mom in full gear, even a mouth guard. Where’d she get the mouth guard? It was one of yours.

She was a motivator, and ass kicker in name and action.

Any mom tough enough to take the field is a mom to pay attention to.

Boomer Mother’s Day memories improve with time.

Since you were such good kids you got to stay home alone. You were trusted.

One night while the parents were out you and your siblings decided to set up a target range around the house and break out the new BB gun.

The targets were paper, pieces of typing paper taped to the kitchen walls and living room walls.

If you got good enough to hit the close targets you shot through the opening to the far paper in the kitchen.

It was wonderful until you took the paper targets down and saw BBs embedded in the drywall.

Hundreds of BBs peppered the house and there was no way to explain. It explained itself.

Mom explained herself when she got home.

No one had an eye shot out. No one got shot at all, just the house. It was a blessing, she said.

The next day you all plucked BBs and plastered the holes. Then painted. It was moment of happy family life.

Boomer Mother’s Day memory: No one ever saw that BB gun again.

One summer day you and the kids played catch in the street.

Someone missed a catch and the ball sailed into the blackberries.

The last time anyone searched for a ball in the blackberries they found a snake nest.

“Throw another ball in there. It’ll find the first one. Just watch where it goes.”

With two balls lost in the  blackberries you all went inside.

You slammed the front door in anger and it rattled the picture window.

It sounded so cool you did it again. Then once more.

Everyone liked the sound. It was even better when you whacked the window with your hand.

Then someone got the idea of head butting the window.

One head butt broke the window. It didn’t shatter, just spider webbed out in place.

No one wanted the blame, so you made up a story and rehearsed it. Everyone agreed with what happened.

Mom came home.

“A big bird flew into the window,” you said. “It flew right into the window. A huge bird. Like a turkey. Really scarey.”

“We’re lucky it didn’t break through to the house and peck us to death,” you said.

Your dad came home to the same story.

The parents looked at each other, looked at the window, then their kids.

“One of you broke the window from the inside. That’s called telling the truth,” they said.

The youngest of the group didn’t know how to stick to the story and confessed he broke the window with his head.

Mom was happy no one cut their head off, got glass in their eye, or that a burglar hadn’t broken in.

Boomer Mother’s Day memory adjustment always has a happy ending.

Mom would like it that way.

Decades later you’re sitting with your mom. She’s in a hospital bed at home. Hospice workers take care of her.

You think she’s sleeping when you tune up your guitar and sing a song.

A harp player had been there earlier in the week playing harp music for your dying mom.

A harp. Like an angel’s harp. You decide it’s time for a song.

You play Bob Dylan’s Knocking On Heaven’s door.

A few family members hear it and come in the room.

“Do you know the song you’re playing? Is this a joke? If it is, it’s not funny.”

Mom opens her eyes and fixes the mom-look on them.

“He’s playing my favorite song. And I’m listening if you’ll be quiet.”

Boomer Mother’s Day for moms who’ve left us left feelings we’ve never had.

They loved us more than they ever said.

All we want is more of them. They’re still here if you look in the right places.