(Excerpt from
The Deplorable Child by Jan Nerenberg)
Mothers,
usually, are not deplorable. They are all things to their children: Chief-cook
and bottle-washer, doctor, lawyer, counselor, nurse, taxi driver, cheerleader, dryer
of tears, mender of tears, etc.
The list goes on… forever.
In fact, she almost walks on water, just ask any florist on the second
Sunday in May.
However, and in
spite of the above facts, including innumerable school plays and endless Little
League games, track meets, and basketball games, I’m a slacker. I’ve missed performances and milestones
in the lives of my multitudinous progeny.
I admit it.
There was the
time our oldest asked for a ride to his high school. I complied and upon arrival, commented on the packed parking
lot. “It’s nothing, mom. Just a simple concert. No big deal,” he said as he exited the
car. Upon arrival home, he had a plaque
tucked under his arm. “How’d it
go?” “Just fine,” he replied as he
put his award for 2nd Chair in the Violin Section on the coffee
table. See! Deplorable. Out of touch.
In fact, I had no idea it was the culmination event of his year!
Then there was
the black full-length gown I crafted for our youngest daughter. “Do you want to be a chaperone?” she
asked after the concert I DID attend at the local high school. Hmmm,
on a bus with half a gazillion teenagers on a two-hour bus trip each way to
hear the same concert? I
declined the honor. Wrong
move. As I graduated years later
from Pacific University, I discovered that my daughter’s high school group had not
only qualified for the state playoffs but they had performed on Pac U’s stage
all those years ago. Oblivious to
the obvious.
Slow, but I do
learn. I’ve turned over a new
leaf. I try to attend as many historic
events in the lives of my children as possible but the fates aren’t always with
me. Case in point, our youngest son’s
doctoral graduation.
We are in the
winding up stages of reclaiming our home from a 3000-gallon internal flood,
getting ready to install lights, preparing an apartment for said son and
family, and answering to half a dozen sub-contractors daily. I set my alarm for just past 7 AM,
showered, checked in with the work crew, helped my husband find his missing
hearing aid and left for Corvallis at 9:30. Only a half hour late but I had scheduled an extra hour to
account for emergencies. I always
do this, as there is always something!
All was well as
we left Astoria. The car shuddered
as we climbed Clatskanie hill. I
prayed. The motor smoothed
out. I breathed. We continued. In Woodland, Washington, the shudder was back. I was afraid that if we stopped we
would never start again, but my husband, bless his decision, pulled into a gas
station. I exited the car as smoke
spiraled into the air when he lifted the hood. The smoke was quickly followed by erupting flames. I don’t know what possessed me but I
grabbed my purse and phone from the now burning car. Truly deplorable behavior.
A helpful attendant
extinguished the flames and wanted to file an incident report until his boss
showed up and suggested that we move the car as far away from his station as
possible, pointing out that car fires and gas pumps do not make good
neighbors. He directed us to a car
repair/dealership, three blocks down the road. That’s when we met Julie (see epilogue).
By now I was
near hysterics. Could I rent a
taxi to drive the remaining 100 miles?
How about helicopter, Lear jet, police escort? Once more I had failed.
I tearfully
called our daughter-in-law and explained our predicament. She said they understood, she was glad
we were okay, said the kids were already cranky, and don’t stress. Our son parked he was driving and called, saying
repeatedly that it was okay and not my fault. I kept thinking I should have somehow known how to prevent
this. He downplayed the importance
of the ceremony – it’s only a piece of paper, no big deal.
By now I was
gulping for air. Yes, I am a bit
of a drama queen. (Gad, I can’t
believe I just admitted that in print.)
Nevertheless, he told us to return home; they would videotape the entire
proceedings. We could celebrate
together on Sunday, his birthday.
My crying slowed a bit.
“Mom,” his voice
cut through my clouded thoughts.
“I know you are proud of me.
You tell me all the time.
You are a good mother and it’s okay.”
I sniffed. An errant thought ran through my head.
“Well, at least I was there and on time for your birth.”
Silence. And then… laughter.
“Dang good
thing,” he chuckled.
Yes, laughter in
the face of adversity is good. I
might be a deplorable mom for many reasons but at least I was front and center
to birth each of our eight children.
Epilogue:
Julie of Woodland’s Lewis River Motor Company gave us a loaner car and
although we arrived halfway through the Oregon State ceremony, we were able to
watch our son, Nathan, walk across the stage and receive his PharmD diploma. God places good people in the world.
Congratulations,
Dr. Nerenberg
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