Sunday, November 6, 2011
Like Mother Like Meg?
Mom was up to it again.
“Dear Sir” was written on the top of page in the lost art of cursive. I didn’t have to ask. It was probably to a bank threatening to withdraw her money if they continued to address correspondences to her as Ms. (to address me as Ms. is to say I’m nothing).
Or maybe to a local charity who sent a thank you to her son for the donation when in fact it was she who signed the check (why do they assume the man sent it just because I share an account with him).
I knew better than to point out the possible contradiction of her feminism.
Recently, she wrote to the local food bank and stated that if that they wanted any more money from her, they were to address their requests to Margaret instead of Peggy.
What? Margaret? I asked.
Yes, that’s my name.
But you’ve been called Peggy for 80 years.
I never liked the name Peggy. I prefer to be called Margaret now. If people want money from me, they will address me as Margaret.
Stubborn German, my dad called her.
Turns out her latest letter was to the National Park Service. In appreciation for her donation they sent her a calendar.
That’s kind of nice, I remarked.
It's made in China.
Mum was the word.
I already knew that was a no-no. Even though she had enough nic nacs made in China to fill her own General Dollar, you do not ask my mom for money to support an American cause and then repay her with some thing un-American.
We had been through this when she cut the tag off a baseball cap and sent it back to the Olympic Committee requesting to be removed from their list.
Now with the calendar from the National Parks, her Dear Sir letter included a question. “Since you have a fondness for the Chinese, can I use Chinese money when I pay the entrance fee to Yellowstone?”
Yes, my mom can be illogical and even down-right crazy. But she does believe in exercising her First Amendment rights.
And she's been doing for a long time now.
When I was 16, I skipped school and my mom drove me the 60 miles to Detroit to get tickets for Paul McCartney and Wings. This was pre-Ticket Master days and one had to wait in line outside in the snow for 6 hours or more. A neighbor, who apparently was not interested in the Today Show like our other neighbors, saw us driving away and reported it to the school.
In my defense, my mother wrote a letter to the principal:
“If boys can take time off school on the first day of hunting season to kill poor baby deer, then my daughter can surely miss school to get tickets to see one of the greatest musicians of our time.”
Did I say I love this woman?