My mother turned seventy-two today.
Though that may not seem like much to a lot of folks, it’s quite an accomplishment in our family. Rarely does your humble blogger’s kin live as long as that.
We usually totter off the stage long before seventy.
So now every year my mother makes it past seventy is like a gift (it’s a gift we still have her around and it’s also a gift for The Gay Groom… as I think my own life expectancy rises the longer my mother decides to stick around – so I’m pushing for her to make it to ninety!).
This is a photo of my mother in from 1964 when she was a mere twenty-five years old (a few years before your humble blogger came on the scene):
To quote Rhoda from The Bad Seed: “I have the prettiest mother, everybody thinks so…”
I’ve always identified far too much with Rhoda in The Bad Seed.
But I do think I had a good looking mother (that is compared to some of the other kids growing up in my neighbourhood – a lot of those kids had real creeps for mothers).
Anyway, my mother is half Native Indian (the new Huckleberry Finn would call her a ‘half blood’ – which I don’t actually like much). Her own mother came from a reserve in northern Minnesota. I never actually met my grandmother because (as I’ve mentioned) the family drops dead early and, sadly, my grandmother being no exception died in 1960. But Native Indian my grandmother and mother certainly were and…
Obviously this makes the Gay Groom (among other things) of Native descent as well.
That is why I still (even at the age of forty-two) cannot grow a full beard. Indians don’t have a lot of hair (on their face or chest). You never saw a John Wayne western where the Indians had beards (as Wayne picked them off one by one) did you?
I still root for the Indians in old Westerns.
Your humble (‘two-spirited’) blogger has always prided himself on his Native blood, going so far as to even have an Ojibwa blessing read at his wedding.
And it was my Native blood that gave me these dark smoldering sexy almond-shaped eyes that drive the men wild… or at least they used to.
But I digress.
So I called my mother today to wish her a happy birthday and ask her how she was celebrating her birthday..
“Boy, seventy-two is really old!” I said to her.
“I know,” she said. “Who would have thought anyone in our family would live this long?”
She went on to say that for her birthday she went to Bingo (old people love Bingo), had dinner out (old people love eating dinner no later than 4pm), and then a slice of birthday cake (but not a large slice since that would keep old people up all night).
She also thanked me for the pink roses the Husband and I sent. I thought that the “Happy Birthday” balloon attached to the flowers might be tacky but what the hell…
After all, one only turns seventy-two once.
This is a photo of my mother at my wedding back in October, 2009:
She’s also holding up pretty well for seventy-two.
In fact I still think I have the prettiest mother…
Jeffrey, The Gay Groom