HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY
On one of these trips, over breakfast, I caught glimpse of a fat bruise on my Mom's leg. I asked her what it was from and she told me, matter-of-factly, that "Bruce" had been in town the night before. She'd gotten a ticket. The bruise was from falling off the seat she'd been dancing on.
The most important lesson my mother ever taught me had nothing to do, at least implicitly, with being a woman. Fuck proper mascara application; fuck how to cook; fuck social graces; fuck it all. My Mom would blast Metallica's Black Album while driving me to after-school activities. She'd blow through AA batteries playing Aerosmith tapes in her Walkman while mowing the lawn. She'd venture out into an unknown city in a denim jacket - leaving her husband and two-children-under-twelve safely ensconced in hotel rooms - to sing along with THE BOSS until it literally hurt. That bruise was an ethos. That bruise is in my blood.
a version of this post originally ran in December 2011.
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