Embarrassing Stories

I made a rare indulgence in a trashy magazine for a train journey up to Birmingham this week. The magazine featured a collection of letters people had sent in with embarrassing stories about their mother. It made me recall events from my teenage years when Mum’s slightly louder and nuttier sides came to the fore. Such as the time when Mum yelled at the cat but called him by my brother’s name. Such as the time she insisted on accompanying me to the family planning clinic then demanded to see what was in the paper bag I came out with. Such as the time when we were having a family slide show (with my grandmother) and she put a more than mildly risqué shot of her into the projector without checking it properly beforehand. Such as the time when a friend of mine was round and Mum arrived home, walked into the lounge and said, “Oh, I wondered what that smell was” (actually referring, of course, to something else entirely). Such as the time when she locked herself into a toilet in Switzerland and banged and crashed and shrieked until someone came and let her out. Such as the times when she’d wear her scarlet ear muffs and my brother and I would insist on walking ten paces behind her down the street.

What struck me about all the letters in the magazine was how they all took their mothers for granted. Their mothers were simply seen as uncool irritations encumbering their lives in a rather amusing way that they could just roll their eyes at, accompanied by a groaning, “Oh, MUM…!” They showed no respect for the sacrifices that their mothers would undoubtedly have made in order to bring them into the world and raise them, sacrifices that Dave and I debate every time we try and decide whether or not we want children. (And then I read We Need To Talk About Kevin...) The letters uttered no words of love or affection. They had no comprehension of what it’s like to lose your mother, to have her ripped from you, to see her suffer unspeakably, to cry for her every single day. And I know that I was once like them. Your parents seem so immortal when you are young and they are healthy that you cannot possibly imagine life without them.
I’d give anything to have Mum back and make me cringe again, warts, farts, ear muffs and all. Only this time I’d take such joy in everything she did. I’m glad though that she still makes me laugh whenever I recall these stories.

REBECCA