Dear Mom,
I had a six-hour conversation with you last week. Too bad you died five years ago.
I finally read all the pop-up notes you affixed to the pages of Without a Doubt by Marcia Clark, the prosecutor in the O.J. Simpson murder trial. I had sent the book to you in 1997 facetiously suggesting that we “compare notes” and you sent it back a month later with 117 pop-up notes.
At the time, I skimmed through the pages, reading a few of the notes, but then put the book back on the shelf. Maybe I was weary of only bonding with you through notorious crimes and tragedies. The bonding had started with the Kennedy assassination, was ramped up with the Challenger disaster, then skyrocketed with the death of Princess Di, finally peaking at O.J. You knew that Frame 313 of the Zapruder film captured “Kennedy’s head exploding”; that the names of Christa McAuliffe’s two kids were Caroline and Scott; and that the last words of Princess Di, according to a firefighter at the scene of the crash were, “My God, what has happened?” What happened, indeed. You knew morbid details such as these, but so very, very few about me. What exactly did I do for a living? What were my hobbies? Who was I dating? What did the inside of the house I had lived in for nearly 30 years look like?
Then again, I didn’t know — and still don’t — many details about you. After you kicked me out of your house in 1972, we seldom talked in person or over the phone for longer than 15 minutes. But now I had these these pop-up notes in your handwriting. I read them several times, then inputted them into my computer. Why? I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that most revealed the savvy, clever and quirky voice of a woman that I — at one time — wish I had known better.
“O.J. means ‘Obliterated Justice.'” Clever, and I can just picture you looking through the “O” and “J” sections of the dictionary to find the most appropriate words to land this jab . . . and impress me. You also despised O.J.’s “Dream Team” of Johnnie Cochran, Robert Shapiro and the “most despicable” F. Lee Bailey.” According to you, they did not comprise the “Dream Team,” but the “Scheme Team.” F. Lee Bailey? He was “Flea Bailey” — “an overstuffed, venomous toad.” Pretty accurate. “Feminists!”? What? You knew the word? You knew they existed?
What about your girl, Marcia Clark? Yes, you admired her a lot, even noting that “her acknowledgments were a joy to read,” but, but, but, but, but, but, but, you did have a couple of things to say against her: “I wish she would clean up her language. It distracts from the dignity and respect her story deserves.” Damn . . . over and over and over again you noted her lazy language and smoking habit. You just couldn’t let it go:
Yes, the book was a good read and most of your pop-ups were a hoot. So you’re welcome and thank you. That’s the good news. Now for the bad news — read between the lines of these pop-up notes. Take in your condescending tone. Without a doubt, you are one mean mother. I will detail more in a separate letter.
Your partner in crime, Sharie
Tomorrow: “Maternal Pop-ups — Part Two.”
I guess it’s kind of weird that these pop-up notes hooked me so, 26 years after they were written. I recognized my mother in most, except ones that obliquely referenced her deep-seated regrets about life:
— “What if Nicole had sat with O.J. at the recital and invited him to the Mezzaluna [a restaurant]? Perhaps it would just have postponed the final clash, but it might had spared Ron Goldman. ‘What if?’ — useless thoughts now about so much in my life.”
— “This case sure helps me to appreciate my simple life.”
Yeah, notes like these hooked me. They are very sad. My mother was never this open about her regrets.
My mother’s ranting about Marcia’s lazy language was most likely directed at me. As most of you know, I have the mouth of a sailor and sometimes didn’t censor it around my parents. She never said anything in response when I inadvertently launched “shit” or the “f-word.” Her notes reveal how much she would have preferred that I clean up my language. Why didn’t she just say something directly to me?
A comment that my sister, Dawna, sent via a text:
“Interesting, I never knew you two did this. I never thought Mom had an opinion about anything that she would actually write down. This is a side of her only you got to experience. I don’t think the bad language remarks were directed at you. Remember, our mouths were washed out with soap for saying the word, “poop”! Anyway, I look forward to reading more. This is a side of Mom I didn’t know even existed.”
This letter format is the perfect vehicle to share this story, including both your mother’s thoughts and yours. Each voice is clear and authentic. I look forward to the next installments.
Thanks, Beth. As you know, I initially tried to tell this story as a dialogue between my mother and me because I’m very good at dialogue. But taking on my mother’s voice was too much; in fact, it was just downright scary. I didn’t like who I was becoming.
You’re a good (and brave) friend to look forward to the next installment. I’ve pretty much decided to publish just one more — tomorrow. A girl can only take so much.
Figuring out the relationship with your mother is a big undertaking. I am with Beth. I look forward to learning more. Your mother seems like such a mystery–in relationship to you, of course and also maybe in relationship to herself.
A mystery for certain, Charlotte, which makes my mother difficult to understand and subsequently, difficult for me to understand myself. It’s tiring.
As I told you, this post made me cringe a bit. If this is the good news, I am concerned what the bad will be.
That said, I agree with Beth. The letter format works.
Thanks for your help with this story, Adrienne, which as you know, took several formats and drafts. And the bad news to be published tomorrow will not be easy to read.
Like the others who have posted, I do like this format for dealing with your mother-relationship. You can be very honest here, and you are, even acknowledging some of your mother’s qualities. Now for the “bad news” of tomorrow. Brace myself!
Thank you for reading this post and for your comment, Carol. My mother had many good qualities. I inherited some of them (my creativity, for one) for which I am grateful. However — and I am only speaking for myself and not my surviving sisters — she seldom seemed grateful to be my mother.
Sharon, I feel overwhelmed with sadness reading your final comment–“she seldom seemed grateful to be my mother.” What a task to learn to live with that reality!
It was sad to write, Carol.😢