The Favorite
I’m the favorite, so much so that on her birthday or Mother’s Day, the other kids would all call her, and she always calls me. And the calls before the pandemic were always similar: She’d say something like “Oh, I’ve been so busy, I’ve missed two of my poker classes at the college.” And I’d say “You’re going to college for poker?” And she’d say, “Yes, but between work and taking my neighbor to her chemo appointment I’ve missed some classes.” And I’d say, “You’re working?” And she’d say: “Yes, but just on weekends. I told them I could because that was when I would usually write to my prison pen pal but he’s been transferred to another facility and I dont know where.”
And I wouldn’t say anything while I tried to process it all. And she would say: “Did you get that ointment laced with marijuana i sent you?” And I’d say: “Did you get it from the prisoner?” and she would say: “Heavens no. He’s in for forgery.” And then she would describe her and my sister’s latest plan for a business painting palm fronds or making cream cheese rats or something.
I would always get off the call thinking the same thing: “I have got to get off the couch more.”
My mom attended the Art Institute of Chicago before having five children. Family life didn’t end her art career, it just changed her materials from paint and canvas to crayon, macaroni and cake frosting. Her subjects also changed to Halloween outfits and giant crossword puzzles for third grade show-and tell. She once made a Christmas card in which she cut out photos of all five of us and drew us into a fanciful scene playing at a fire station. It belongs in an art museum.
Two elements were always present regardless of the task: her talent — which was clear even in the depiction of a cream cheese rat — and her enthusiasm, which totally rejected any implication that such projects were beneath her ability, even if they were. Also mom is fun.
One time when my brother and i were visiting her in California she decided at about 8 am we should go to a casino, so we piled into her car and my brother drove kinda fast. I noticed you can’t tell how fast you’re going when the speed indicator goes all the way to the end of the dial an disappears so it looks like you’re going infinity or maybe only 900 mph.
Mom didn’t notice because she was looking through her purse for what she called a superstrong mint for me. I have no idea why. I know I’m her real favorite but she has forged relationships in which each of my brothers and sisters feel cherished and that they’re the favorite even though they’re not.
For instance, I don’t think she would do this for the other children but when I visit she has this vast amount of food on the table and then after I’d eat she would say, “OK let’s clear the table so I can serve the pot roast and ravioli and salmon for lunch.”
But she likes to go out too. I remember when my sons were like 4 and 7 she said “C’mon, meet us at a Mexican place for happy hour.” So we did, and the kids loved it.
Always surprising, endlessly cheerful, dismissive of the pain that comes with age, focused relentlessly on the future, she is a super hero with a walker. She is an artist in residence. She is everything God intended. And I’m her favorite, probably.
