A Morning Conversation Over Coffee.

I brought up the subject of my mother over coffee this morning. I won't call it a mistake because I did not anticipate where the conversation would end up. I should have expected my wife's response, but when it came, I was caught off guard by her blunt answer. I asked or rather stated as a joke:

"I'm not like my mother am I?"

BA stopped stuffing her lunch bag and looked at me as if weighing how harsh of a reply she should level at me. Just the look she gave indicated I was about to have the Bad Ass Bobbi answer and not the Leave it to Beaver "Yes dear" I might have hoped for. Of course I have never gotten a "Yes Dear" from my bride of 43 years. Not once. That has always been one of the things that attracted me to her in the first place.  She puts up with my stupidity, my delusions of grandeur, but will not hesitate to call me on my Bull Shit when she feels I need a swift kick in the ass. She has never been a subservient woman. I like that.

So, she's looking at me deciding whether to pull punches or let a flurry of them fly. I can see it in her eyes.

"You are just like your mother."

She stopped there and went back to stuffing her lunch bag.

I was not crushed. I was surprised I guess that she said it with such firmness and with a touch of "isn't it obvious" in her tone.

Okay, maybe I should have filled some history gaps before I let this post get to this point. So, I'll do it now.

My wife's and my mother's relationship was strained from the first time they met. My mom was a judgmental woman who was raised as an elite daughter in the social world of San Francisco in the early to mid 1900s. Her father was a judge who for some time, was "the Man" in the local Republican party. In other words, Mom could be a snobbish and often was.

BA, my future wife, was immediately put off by the pretentions my mom exhibited. I never expected them to be pals, but I was surprised at the tension that continued from that day forward. Part of me enjoyed seeing my mom dealing with a woman who wouldn't put up with her bullshit. Another part of me wished they would get along. And then the evil part of me ..... , well, let's just say I did little to meet either's expectations in the way of defense. I figured each was up to the task of their battle and I should stay out of it as much as possible. Overall, one of the smartest decisions of my life.

Back to our conversation ..........

After Bobbi Ann crushed my soul by inferring I was just like my mother,  I stupidly did not leave it alone and asked or is it I stated:

"Well okay, at least I'm not as bad as she was, right?"

"No, You aren't."

She continued packing her lunch. I knew this was not the morning conversation she wanted. She was trying to focus on her day at her office. I couldn't let it go, so I continued to press:

"I'm not as much like her as Joe (my oldest brother, now deceased) was, right?"

BA's body language told me this might be the end of her patience, but she answered:

"No, those two were peas in a pod. Joe could do no wrong. He was her little prince."

Satisfied now that I was not as much like Mom as Joe was, I decided to quit pushing it. Or I thought I did. Instead, as an after thought, I opened my pie hole again and asked: 

"What about Doug?"

Doug was the middle son who had to grow up in Joe's shadow. He ended up not being like either Joe or I. For many years he was the even tempered Dougie who always tried to calm the often contentious family moments from getting out of hand.

BA perked up:

"Yeah what happened to Doug? He turned into a nice guy without the ego you and Joe picked up."

I couldn't leave well enough alone, could I? That pesky ego always gets me in trouble.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .................................

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I typed in "Blues tunes about Mom". Google took me immediately to this fine song, "Blues for Mama" by Nina Simone. Nina has one of the finest voices of my lifetime. She can belt out the Blues fer shur Dude.