My mother is in her last days now. It's been a few weeks in coming, and as a silly coping mechanism, I decided to do a parody a day for each day she was still here. I had quite a few parodies already drawn and written.
My mother, a school teacher, read me so many poems as a child. I didn't like them, and so, as a bratty way to deal with them, I made up parodies. Once you start doing that, it becomes a habit.
So many dumb, dumb parodies run through my mind.
My mother also corrected my accent and grammar constantly. I remember her once saying, It's not bah-baby. You aren't a sheep. It's rock-a-bye-baby.
With a southern accent, bye, becomes bah.
Now, when I am in Virginia, I hear people saying bah, or rather, ba-ah, to each other as they wave goodbye.
I think I will be hearing her voice in my head even louder, at least for a while now.
3 comments:
I think you have described everything correctly, which doesn't help much. Nothing does. But if your parodies have helped you, they've helped me also and for that I'm grateful. We're here and listening. Oh -- and mothers are supposed to correct your grammar and accent. Who else would? Curtis
I always loved the way you talk about your mom, about things fried in grease and the eye doctor appointments, about her sayings and ways. You describe your love for her so articulately without ever using the word love.
Aw Nin, I'm thinking of you my friend.
Thank you Erin and Curtis. Yes, I loved my mom's corrections. And her unique spirit. I appreciate your kind words.
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