Hallmark Loves You, Too!

Happy Friggin' Mother's Day.

I made my $5 donation to the Hall family (of Hallmark wealth and renown) and simply await the landing of my own mother's plane from Florida to complete my Hallmark-imposed duty. She's been to Florida for a week and I'm on the hook to buy her something. I hate this crap. I'm not curmudgeonly by nature, but I have an intense dislike of these trumped-up occasions to spend $50 or be considered the derelict offspring.

I've seen the enablers. They stand at the greeting card kiosk and dab their eyes with a tissue as they read the consciously manipulative-for-profit verbiage on the Mother's Day Cards. They'll do the same thing at Father's Day. My over-weaning sense of integrity gets between me and the selection of cards. I can't stand the thought of sending one that conveys an inaccurate sentiment. But they don't make a card that says, "You Are One Of The Nastiest Human Beings I Know. Congratulations On Your Reproductive Skills."

My mama is not evil. She's just not the stuff of Hallmark fare. I was not locked in the basement and fed dog food. I was not denied education, clothing or shelter. She's just a foul-mouthed, egocentric, Everything's About Me kind of person. In other words, we're just alike and it drives me nuts. But that whole "Loving, Sensitive Mother Who Tucked Gushy Notes In With My Ham Sandwich Every Day For School" is not my mama's Mother's Day card. They need one that says, "Look. You know and I know that this is perfunctory at best. You're a mother. This is the day. (open card) But the other 364 days are not about you! Love, Your Son."

I don't begrudge my mother flowers and a card. God knows if I pushed something of significant size through my genitalia, it's the least I would expect annually until my death. It just takes me forever to find the friggin' card that doesn't convey something that would make us both overly aware of the Bullshit Factor. This year's sentiment boils down to: "You taught. I listened. So grateful."

We both know I didn't listen, she didn't teach much, etc. But it was easier to pretend that might have happened than it would have been to paint her as June Cleaver and me as fawning acolyte. I like my mother. I do. Really. We're just not Hallmark people. We're "share a pack of cigarettes and talk down your drunk uncle" people. We're guilt, recrimination, grudge people. We're Jewish, in essence, only without the dietary complications. If Jews believed in Jesus. In other words, we're Catholic. If Catholics were Pentecostal. In other words... You see how hard it is to buy cards for these people? Drives me nuts.

Oh...call your mother or somebody mother-like. She'll make your life miserable if you don't.