Family Matters

First of all, my mom is gorgeous. So is my aunt, so was my grandma. Thanks to our identical genes, I know I'll still be good looking at 50, 60, and 90. While our butts aren't exactly the "soulful ass" I dream of (I always wanted something that danced to its own beat), we are pillowy and adorable in all the right pear places.

My grandma.

I don't even need to say this, but my god, she's good lookin'. She was born in 1920, and went through everything. Prohibition, Depression, husband at war. But she never wanted to talk about it. She's a lady that counted her coupons and didn't believe in expiration dates (two qualities that were passed on to my aunt and mom- they also believe in the lasting omnipotent power of the freezer) but those were the only signs she gave of a life used to tight-belt times. Other than that, she was just always, always smiling.

My mom and dad got engaged when they looked at each other in the car one day. My dad said "guess we're getting married" and my mom pulled out her calendar (that sums up both of their personalities pretty well). They've been through 30 years together now and while they've had their rough spots, my dad looks at my mom from across the kitchen sometimes and says, "yup, she's my soul mate."

I underestimated my mom while I was growing up, and I know I still do. I just found out recently that she had all three of us kids with a midwife next to her in the hospital and no epidurals.She doesn't believe in makeup except for very special occasions and wanted to die in a skiing accident when she was 35 and single after traveling the world. My dad and us kids kind of messed that up for her, but I hope she doesn't mind too much.

Truth is, she's way more of a feminist than I ever took her to be. Growing up, I was angry. Our family leans on the private side, the kind that dresses in the bathroom because its too indecorous to walk around in a towel. I resented her for being the one to cook and clean and work in an office and being called "the pastor's wife", as if she was an extra limb attached to my dad. I thought if I became like her, it would be the end of the world.

I was so wrong.

My mom stood by my dad when he decided to be a preacher in the projects of Chicago. She dreamed of lemonade and front porches, and got gangs and poverty instead. She's the one that held it together when the electricity was cut off and bills were too much to pay. She worked the system, she used the coupons and expired cans of corn just like her mom did, and kept the family going. We lived in a big, beautiful house that used to be a convent. It was huge, with hidden staircases and triangular turns and RATS. We had rats the cats were scared of. They would come out in hordes when the sun went down and would actually knock down trash cans. One was finally caught in a trap and was so big its thrashing spattered blood all the way to the top of our man-sized fridge. My mom put up with a lot in that old house.

Then, after 13 years of that, it was time to move to the suburbs. She was so happy, house hunting and school hunting and looking at back yards. But it wasn't what she had dreamed. A string of dead end difficult jobs for my dad who wanted to be back preaching and not driving a truck left my mom as the main bread winner. Not really fun for anyone. My dad wasn't doing what he wanted, my mom wasn't doing what she wanted, and the 20-minute cookbook was the only one lying around.

Things stayed hard for a long time. But it eventually got better, and then they moved to Phoenix. Both my mom and dad shed 10 years of aging and looked like kids again. The stress was gone, the wrinkles were gone, and my mom became a blond and started wearing sequins.

I can't imagine the silent battles my mom has fought out in her heart over the years. For someone that had no inkling to get married or have kids or do anything besides ski and travel, her life changed drastically. She has been selfless time and again, and I don't know if I will ever be as courageous as her. While cooking, cleaning and office work still aren't my strong points, I honor her. She loves God, she loves her family, and one day, I'm going to take her skiing.