If only corn on the cob came this big!

I can’t remember what it was that I did but I must have really pissed my mother off. Before I could assess the situation, I was spun around and thrown out of the house (meaning out of her face, go in the backyard) before I get hurt. That wasn’t a warning but a promise: one that I knew perfectly well that she had every intent in keeping. Not because she beat us but because she was old-school and demanded respect as the parent.

My parents loved us but they didn’t play; my back side was the topic of many a conversation amongst the belts in the house. But this one particular time I had really stepped over the line. Like I said, I don’t remember exactly what happened and ultimately it doesn’t matter, but whatever it was I had perceived that some injustice had been done me and that I could not and would not have a “fair trial” because the judge, juror and executioner also happens to be the person primarily responsible for my birth.

That is a text book example of a losing situation.

So with no other recourse I put on my snow suit and moon boots and headed out into the backyard. It gets very cold in Wisconsin during the winter-even with a suit and boots-but I tried to make the best out of it because what kid doesn’t like to play in snow when given the chance?

The snow angels and brief attempt at making a snowman did little to squash the anger I had bubbling inside. It was enough to heat the faded white and blue snow suit that so many times before had been imagined as an astronaut’s suit: complete with a man maneuvering unit (mmu) made from cereal boxes and generous layers of aluminum foil. As I was walking along the sidewalk that went from the side of the house past the backyard, into the garage, I saw an untouched section of pavement. Two or threes whole squares of sidewalk, cracks and all-no ice, no snow, not even salt. It was weird to see a section of the ground untouched by the pristine glow of freshly fallen snow. I took off full speed anger and all, jumped as high as I could in my fairly restricting suit and landed right on the first crack I saw.

“Step on a crack, break your mother’s back!” I yelled, feeling somewhat satisfied. It was something that I had heard on a playground, or the bus…God only knows where but I repeated it. At the time I didn’t think about it because I was young and foolish and wanted to rebel. I was upset about a great many things, all of them seemed at least to me, to be of dire importance. You didn’t dare curse and your protests had better be subdued when airing them, so we had to be creative in how we “struck a blow to the man” or woman in this case.

Things like this happened frequently between us but never getting to the point of calling her out of her name or anything like that. Like I said, I have old-school African-American parents (I really hate using hyphenated American titles so I’m just going to say black like I always do) who did not negotiate with children. You could only test the waters so much before you got the smack down. It was a dangerous game of family politics where I was more of a Khrushchev throwing his shoe in protest than I was someone who actually had the power to do anything. But there was one sure fire way to bring my mom and I together no matter what the situation was that drove us apart. It didn’t happen often and you had to time it just right, but when we did and the stars were aligned all wrongs could be made right. I’m talking about corn.

I’m not talking about canned corn or something equally as corny…I’m talking about the real deal. Wisconsin State Fair corn on the cob, dipped in huge heated barrels of butter (not that fake stuff; REAL freaking butter) and rubbed in salt. That’s why it had to be timed just right because it only came around once a year but that one moment in time seemed to take away all the bitter memories, harsh words and hostility and allowed us to get greasy, laugh and love each others company as a mother and son should.

As my mom grew older, she started showing really bad signs of back and knee problems. She was an RN- on her feet all day- it took it’s toll until finally she had to retire, forced into a wheelchair. I was crushed because the words I said as a child in anger had somehow come to life. Being careful what you wish for came to mind on numerous occasions. I eventually admitted to her what I had said and done all those years ago and apologized. She lovingly told me not to be silly; that it was an old work injury that had caught up to her. She’s better now two knee surgeries and a walker later but she’s walking, she forgave me and most importantly she’s still alive for me to love and respect her as she deserves. We don’t always get a chance to make things right between our parents. As we grow older so do they and chances are, the time you have to make things right is running low. Don’t pass it up. I know that there are serious things that keep families apart-I know and can testify to that myself, just as many if not most people reading this can. You are not unique in having trials and tribulations with loved ones. We all have family drama but if you can, drop the drama and try and make things right where you can.

I haven’t been back to Milwaukee in a long, long time so I don’t know how much it has changed in the years that I’ve been away but it used to be that as soon as you had paid and walked thru the gates there were two things I could count on: the Wisconsin fried cheddar cheese nugget wagon and the corn on the cob stand. If I ever make back up that way to Milwaukee and if the time of year is right, I’ll have to stop by and grab a few ears of corn for me and my cob eating comrade.

I love you mom.