Monday, June 24, 2013

Your Mother Should Know

My dearest Queen Mother was both upset and relieved by my post a few months ago on Facebook:
THANK YOU, GOD, FOR WATCHING OVER ME: On a way to a wedding this evening, a SUV missed sideswiping me by "that much." On the way home from it in the dark on Old Soldier Trail, I was able to avoid hitting a coyote that darted right in front of me. GOD is Great.
To which Her Majesty replied:
Why didn't you tell me! That's why I don't like to talk to people who are driving! Love from your worried mom!
To which I told later told her on the phone that I didn't need to add to her compulsive worrying. My Queen Mother worries constantly and consistently. She inherited the trait from my Queen Grandmother, who used to think every ambulance siren somehow involved her offspring.

"We're not going to tell Grandma about this," Mother would often say to my brother and I for those minor crises that were best patched up and forgotten. But she didn't realize that procedure would turn on her when the kids grew up and she became a grandparent. I have selectively withheld information on matters beyond her control until the danger has passed and all could be revealed. I reckon my brother has, too. Yet Her Majesty can't understand why she's been left out of the loop on some things.

"The rules you make as a parent don't change when you become a grandparent," I explained.

"But I'm your mother!"

Yes, and the Queen Mother told her young princes that certain information was top secret. And her loyal, loving subjects have decided she's got enough on her plate, mainly dealing with classfulls of testosterone with little backing.

Occasionally, I'll get a question similar to, "What other things have you not told me?" It's pretty self-defeating, like asking the people who didn't show up for the meeting to raise their hands. But when the time is right, certain information will be revealed, like getting ticketed for criminal speeding outside Las Vegas or trying to escape harassment in high school.

Some stories I have withheld because telling them at the time would not be as satisfying than after the fact. The classic example was when I attended my first We Make History Ball. I had told Mother I was participating in a historic event, but I did not disclose much more than that, wanting to tell a better story. She ended up reading it on this blog and asking questions later.

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