Remembering My Mom
When I was six years old, my mom gave me an important lesson. She was on carpool duty when she dropped off Lawrence Fishman at his home. He didn’t say thank you. She became furious. She told me, “I don’t want you to be friends with that boy. If someone doesn’t say thank you, you don’t want him in your life.”
My mom always offered little gems like that. She once said, “You’re born into a birth family but you spend the rest of your life searching for your earth family. If you’re lucky, the two are the same.” Another time she said, “Only spend time with people who make you feel good about yourself. If somebody makes you feel lousy, stay away from them.”
My mom was quirky and opinionated and never hesitated to speak her mind. She loved to stir things up. When I was in high school, she became a Chocolatier with a twist. She hired a sculptor to make a mold of a penis and used it to make chocolate schlongs. She called her company Lick-a-Prick and filled the refrigerator with edible phalluses. Friends were always surprised when rummaging through our fridge for something to eat.
My mom was playful and loved to laugh. During her childhood speech to me about avoiding strangers she said, “If someone you don’t know offers candy to get in their car, don’t do it….unless it’s chocolate.” She followed this with a mischievous laugh and bright smile revealing her youthful spirit.
