As is my custom during the closing days of July, I talk about my mother as we celebrated another birthday for the most loved woman in my life.
That isn’t to say Julie doesn’t garner similar accolades, because she does, mostly for just bearing with me and my odd idiosyncrasies. For that alone she deserves a star of her own on the Walk of Fame. I can’t imagine there being anyone I would share all of the crazy and whirlwind that is my life.
But back to the point, which is the woman I should thank for all that I have because if not for her, there’s no telling where I may have ended up with most of those prospects going from bad to worse.
My mother celebrated her 78th birthday July 24, and it being a Sunday I had the opportunity to visit with her, share some cake and ice cream, give her a gift she had been wanting for quite some time — although she could have said something sooner — and just enjoy her company.
As part of a project she is working on for my youngest son, Andrew, there were photos strewn in several places. To be honest, strewn isn’t a good word. I’m sure where my mother is concerned it was a mess but the fact is I wouldn’t have considered it as much, nor would most people.
My boys were en route from visiting relatives in Iowa and couldn’t be there but Julie, Brittan, and Emma were more than glad to be there. And I have to say a thank you to those three for treating my parents as if they were their own family.
It speaks volumes not only of their mother but what a great job she has done instilling the values Brittan and Emma have.
My kids have seen all the pictures and heard all the stories about me but these three are just now getting the unadulterated version from the woman who spent so many years trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. They seem to have enjoyed it immensely.
Personally, when I look back at old photos I do enjoy it, especially looking at the clothes we used to wear “back in the day,” as Emma puts it, using the wide expanse of her worldly experience of 14 years and many moons on this Earth to help me delve into the recesses of pre-cambrian existence.
So, my mother in all her pride, displayed me in all my glory of the 1970’s complete with polyester and patterned silk shirt.
Yes, I looked like a mini-version of someone strutting their stuff in Saturday Night Fever, except I had no stuff to strut and the pre-braces overbite did not give me a resemblance to John Travolta. My mother’s hair had apparently set some sort of height-structural record by Aqua Net, but the kids’ fascination was all in my wardrobe.
I can’t say as I blame them. I mean, with that collar it looks like I could have taken up hang gliding or was lucky not to be carried off during any kind of storm. It’s hard to believe any of us dressed that way and even harder to believe we thought we looked good. But it is good to laugh at.
Beyond the requisite disco suit, I was also displayed as a fat baby and throughout all of the stages of my awkwardness.
Shades of brown and stripes clashing with one another, awful sweaters and shirts, matching Adidas shorts and T’s, and a bevy of chunky, porky pictures I would rather were forgotten were all shared with a smile and a laugh.
By them, not me. Let’s keep this straight here, shall we?
At the end of the day a good time was had. I got to share another day with my mother and father, and with Julie and her kids and that was all that mattered to me. As a matter of fact, it was like I had made a wish and blew out the candles, and got all that I could want.
It was one of the Best. Days. Ever.
D. C. Moody is a staff writer for The Easley Progress, The Pickens Sentinel and Powdersville Post and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Views expressed in this column are those of the writer only and do not represent the newspaper’s opinion.