Written by:
9/2/2011 1:53 AM 

Some readers may wonder what this post is all about. In short, it is my mom’s birthday! And I kind of screwed up. No one in my family really does presents. None of us want more “stuff” in our lives so we make it a point to talk and wish each other well on these special days instead of adding to the stuff we don’t need.

What my mom has asked for are stories. Stories about anything from our lives, but mostly stories from our time spent together. These are written refreshers from days past that stick out in our minds, but may not be as vivid in hers. My sister in law, being the wonderful person she is, had everyone write up their memories to put together in a book. I went sailing and got side tracked and didn’t get mine done in time to make the publication. Sorry Jennifer.

So here is my story for you Mom, out loud online, in public, and with a big Happy Birthday from Darwin Down Under.

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I must have been in the fourth or fifth grade that year. We were in the old house on Devonshire and I don’t think the garage was filling up with belt buckles just yet. You and Dad had told me not to do it a hundred times, but being my mother’s son I had a stubborn will and a mind of my own.

It should have been easy really. Two hands on the rail, a little hop, one foot on the rail, and over. I’d jumped that fence 10 times for every time you’d told me not too. This time my foot slipped and I flew belly first into our own backyard. Nothing hurt at first and I don’t remember any pain from the fall looking back from today. What I remember was the panic that hit when I realized a flat cut stump of a rose bush stopped my hand and wrist from falling while the arm continued down.

Looking at my hand up on the woody pedestal the only word I could scream was, “Ma. Ma….MOOOOOOOOOM”! You came running from the house and dropped down instantly beside me. I watched on as you reached to the stump and broke away a thorny branch struggling to grow, but now blocking the retrieval of my hand. As you helped me stand I dropped the first F-bomb of my life. For a split second I was more afraid of your reaction to that expletive than I was worried about my arm. If you heard me you didn’t blink an eye and we moved towards the car. I think now maybe I only vocalized what was running through your mind but never uttered.

You’d always driven faster than Dad, but what I saw that day on the way to the hospital was a work of art. With the horn blaring and hazard lights flashing you tore through the traffic like a tornado daring anyone to slow you down. Eventually a policeman took that dare and almost lost. I vaguely remember commenting on the red and blue lights coming from the police car with the siren on behind us. I believe you told me to ignore him and that he didn’t want anything that mattered.

I remember us being in the old Oldsmobile, but can’t be sure. Anyway, I think you gunned the engine even harder trying to pull away from the squad car only pissing off the officer even more. Eventually, he caught up again and something made you stop. I am still not sure if he forced you or something else? Regardless, the policeman came to the car, saw my arm, gave you a two second reprimand for not stopping then gave us an escort into the emergency room.

The details in the hospital aren’t so clear from there. I know at one point you attacked my upper lip with a wash cloth trying to remove what you thought was a bit of food or kid grime. It wasn’t easy to explain to you that it was a blister from playing with a heating element for a cup of tea and hurt to be scrubbed on. Eventually, because I had a full stomach they sent us home, arm very broken, but spliced, and advised us to come back the next day. The last thing I can remember clearly is you and dad making me as comfortable in bed as possible with a busted arm.

The kiddy drugs must have worked well because it seems like I slept soundly that night. The next day we went back to the hospital and the doctors set me straight.

Thanks Mom. I love you & Happy Birthday.

Lee

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