There’s a special bond between mothers and sons. It’s the bond of servitude. Mothers generally wait on their sons hand and foot and sons wait on their mothers to wait on them.
It’s not a bad deal for a son, but it can be a killer for a marriage if the son expects to marry a gal just like good old dad did. Wives can be way too busy waiting on their own demanding children to wait on their husband/child hand and foot.
Sons suddenly become helpless around their mothers. They could be the king of the world, masters of their own domain or capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound, but get around their mothers and they become little boys again waiting for mommy to tie a bib around them before they eat.
That’s somewhat different than the CEO who expects his secretary to do everything for him. In other words, men are babies. Sorry guys, the truth hurts till you feel like bawling. But I digress.
When I visit my 91 year-old mother Milly Roddey (Yes, Milly and Billy, isn’t that cute?) I usually bring fast food for our dinner. However, at Christmas time mom has the four rings of fire roaring on the range, pots are boiling over, pans are sizzling, the oven is broiling and she’s young again feeding her family, her only child, his favorites. You can see the light in her dimming eyes brightly shining as she takes on the roll of her lifetime as my mother.
Sons have to be a tad careful though around their mothers in what they say or do, or they could be compared to good old dad, as in “You’re just like your father!” which is not necessarily a good thing.
Statistically, husbands die before their wives, perhaps to get out of doing the dishes. Men can be lazy, yet practical at the same time. But no matter what, there are more widows than widowers on the market.
When you overhear a platoon of widows talking about marriage it sounds like they feel they did their duty and served their sentence and now they can finally do what they really want to do, without having a man underfoot. However, many widowers are looking for their next wives to take care of them.
Regardless, a mother’s son never calls or visits enough, while the daughters, who may very well help them out the most, can be ignored and taken for granted.
My mother has known me all my life. I don’t know that she’s always approved of me, but she’s faked it well because she’s a true mother. We can argue and wonder if we’re really related at all, but our ties go back to my boyhood birthday parties, a million home cooked meals, bonding together behind the bedroom door as my mad dad tried to kick it in to get at us, girlfriends coming and going, pride in my academic achievements ( like the one time I made the honor roll in high school, and never did it again because it took too much studying), dogs that died after years of devotion till they just wore out in their teens, letters from home when I was shipped overseas in the service and over five decades of counseling and consoling.
My mother is a tiny tower of white haired strength, feisty in her faith, lasting in her loyalty and always a mother to everyone around her. She’s the generic mom with the super sized heart.
I’m proud to be her son. She’s had a tough life and has persevered. I didn’t get to meet her till she was 31 and had me, but almost every year since something reminds me that I’m more like her than anything else. Even if it doesn’t always show, like I just don’t understand why she hates chicken corn soup. It’s soooooo goooood!
Tuesday, April 28
Thursday, April 16
CRIME VICTIM'S STATEMENT--JACK T. RODDEY
This is the last thing left I can do for my beloved precious grandson, Jack Roddey in this courtroom. I come here to celebrate his life and all his lost potential. Jack’s life was full of family and friends who loved him dearly and his potential was unlimited.
He was consistently on the honor roll and made the distinguished honor roll his last school marking period. And he won a citizenship award for his winning essay at Sacred Heart elementary school.
Jack was a brave little boy. I remember once when he was 6 or so I took him to the doctors and he had to have four shots at once. Four shots! He didn’t complain or cry. He just sat there on my lap biting his lip and braced himself for his shots.
Jack always stood up for the handicapped, starting with his handicapped step brother, Mikey. If someone was making fun of a disabled child, Jack quickly told them off. He wouldn’t put up with bulying anyone.
Jack was also my audience for me being silly or telling silly jokes. Sometimes it seemed like he was the adult and I was the kid.
I’m here seeking justice for Jack. Justice for Jack, because he can’t speak for himself. His neighbor Josh ended Jack’s short life with a single simple pull of a trigger. That's all, to end such a special loving and beloved life. Josh continues to enjoy the love and support of his family and all that life has to offer a 13–year–old boy.
Josh moves on, leaving Jack behind FOREVER FOURTEEN.
My grandson Jack was the future I'd never see. Now he's the past I see over and over and over again in my mind. That past started horrifically on 1/16/09 about 1:15 pm with a split second shot that took away his life and everything he'd ever be. Jack made our world so much brighter with his presence, but so much bleaker with his passing.
His school friends wrote Rest in Peace, Jack T. Roddey. Rest in peace should NEVER have to be said to a 14-year-old boy! Ever! Jack, you should be running and jumping, laughing and playing, flirting and hugging, joking and helping others long after I'm gone. Instead, you're still and silent in your dark dank grave.
Oh Jackie, my heart is shattered and scattered to the ends of the earth and I see you everywhere; wherever there's video games, Dr. Pepper, popcorn chicken, a playground, sour candy, birthday cards, a backyard trampoline, kids and a boy's mischievous grin. Fun followed you around like a circus. Now that circus has left town, leaving behind misery and bittersweet memories.
In dreams Jack, I see you behind me stuck at that terrible January day waving and shouting at me, "Granddad stop! Wait Granddad! Don't leave me here! Please, Granddad! Please!" But I can't stop. I try to turn around. I try hard to go back and get you, but the present is too powerful and it pushes me forward, hurtling me thru life weeping without you, as you recede and get smaller in the distance.
You're like a beautiful book I reread in my mind every day till I reach the same tragic ending. Goodbye my darling grandson, I cherish every moment we had together. It went by in the wink of an eye and I'll never REALLY see you again.
Even if I could search the seas and wander the world endlessly and fly from planet to planet in every galaxy in the entire universe, I'd never find you and see your beautiful smile and your boyish face again. Or hear you laugh, tease you, joke with you or ruffle your curly blond hair ever again. You are gone forever and the enormity and weight of that crushes me.
I love you and miss you so so much, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy.
Granddad
He was consistently on the honor roll and made the distinguished honor roll his last school marking period. And he won a citizenship award for his winning essay at Sacred Heart elementary school.
Jack was a brave little boy. I remember once when he was 6 or so I took him to the doctors and he had to have four shots at once. Four shots! He didn’t complain or cry. He just sat there on my lap biting his lip and braced himself for his shots.
Jack always stood up for the handicapped, starting with his handicapped step brother, Mikey. If someone was making fun of a disabled child, Jack quickly told them off. He wouldn’t put up with bulying anyone.
Jack was also my audience for me being silly or telling silly jokes. Sometimes it seemed like he was the adult and I was the kid.
I’m here seeking justice for Jack. Justice for Jack, because he can’t speak for himself. His neighbor Josh ended Jack’s short life with a single simple pull of a trigger. That's all, to end such a special loving and beloved life. Josh continues to enjoy the love and support of his family and all that life has to offer a 13–year–old boy.
Josh moves on, leaving Jack behind FOREVER FOURTEEN.
My grandson Jack was the future I'd never see. Now he's the past I see over and over and over again in my mind. That past started horrifically on 1/16/09 about 1:15 pm with a split second shot that took away his life and everything he'd ever be. Jack made our world so much brighter with his presence, but so much bleaker with his passing.
His school friends wrote Rest in Peace, Jack T. Roddey. Rest in peace should NEVER have to be said to a 14-year-old boy! Ever! Jack, you should be running and jumping, laughing and playing, flirting and hugging, joking and helping others long after I'm gone. Instead, you're still and silent in your dark dank grave.
Oh Jackie, my heart is shattered and scattered to the ends of the earth and I see you everywhere; wherever there's video games, Dr. Pepper, popcorn chicken, a playground, sour candy, birthday cards, a backyard trampoline, kids and a boy's mischievous grin. Fun followed you around like a circus. Now that circus has left town, leaving behind misery and bittersweet memories.
In dreams Jack, I see you behind me stuck at that terrible January day waving and shouting at me, "Granddad stop! Wait Granddad! Don't leave me here! Please, Granddad! Please!" But I can't stop. I try to turn around. I try hard to go back and get you, but the present is too powerful and it pushes me forward, hurtling me thru life weeping without you, as you recede and get smaller in the distance.
You're like a beautiful book I reread in my mind every day till I reach the same tragic ending. Goodbye my darling grandson, I cherish every moment we had together. It went by in the wink of an eye and I'll never REALLY see you again.
Even if I could search the seas and wander the world endlessly and fly from planet to planet in every galaxy in the entire universe, I'd never find you and see your beautiful smile and your boyish face again. Or hear you laugh, tease you, joke with you or ruffle your curly blond hair ever again. You are gone forever and the enormity and weight of that crushes me.
I love you and miss you so so much, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy.
Granddad
Thursday, April 2
LOST IN D.C. AFTER DATE
Retirement- Nowhere to go anymore AND all day to get there. Oh, sorry I was just lost in thought. That happens a lot lately, especially when I see a pretty girl or monkeys fooling around on the TV. “Lost”- a TV series I never miss, even though I’ve never really understood a single episode.
Lost- Washington, D.C., the most confusing city I’ve ever driven thru. And this is genetic. I remember one family trip with my father driving down south trying to pass thru Washington, D.C., years before the beltway around the city was built.
My father, who was not a pleasant person at the best of times, had gotten lost and pulled over to ask directions. Off we went with the directions fresh in my father’s head, only to return several hours later to the exact same spot, having circumnavigated the center of the city to get there.
To deny that my dad was mad would be like trying to put the lava back into an erupting volcano with a tea spoon. I just remember flush faced boiling over anger and total silence from my mother and me the remainder of the trip.
Many years later I also got lost down town. I drove into D.C. from my Air Force barracks to pick up a cute English girl named Georgina who was a governess for a diplomat’s family that lived on so-called Embassy Road.
I knocked on their huge posh door and was ushered in as Georgina told the family, on one of the house’s many intercoms that she was leaving. “Ta, Ta.” Aside from a tour of the White House this was the nicest house I’d ever been in.
My big idea for our date was to see Elvis Presley’s 1968 comeback TV special. So I drove to Georgetown University, parked and entered buildings until I found a dayroom with a TV. We sat on a couch, like we belonged there, and watched Elvis swathed all in black leather in concert after I changed the channel.
Afterwards, I treated her to a fast food burger and fries then returned her to the castle. In other words, it was a great date and reasonably priced.
Now I only knew one way in and one way out of confusing Washington D.C. and I missed a turn. So I drove around the district like a drunk searching for a drink after all the bars had closed.
I got to see Abe at the Lincoln Memorial stand up and stretch after sitting all day like a statue for the tourists. I overheard Thomas Jefferson at the Jefferson Memorial declare that “All men are created equal, except for slaves.” Because he couldn’t have kept his plantation Monticello going financially without all his free slave labor. They later cut that last part out of the Declaration of Independence.
The White House turns all colors of the rainbow on Gay Pride Saturday nights. I spotted the Reflecting Pool churning with mermaids around 4 AM and the reflection of Marilyn Monroe singing “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” like a big haired plunging cleavage billboard in its waters.
At least that’s what I thought I saw in my sleep deprived fevered mind as I chased Route 95 beltway signs that appeared then suddenly disappeared just before leading you to the actual beltway.
I’m surprised I’m not still circling the city, but I got back before my duty started again on Monday morning. The last I heard about Georgina was that she had moved west and married a cowboy. Way to go, girlfriend. Giddyup, Limey.
Lost- Washington, D.C., the most confusing city I’ve ever driven thru. And this is genetic. I remember one family trip with my father driving down south trying to pass thru Washington, D.C., years before the beltway around the city was built.
My father, who was not a pleasant person at the best of times, had gotten lost and pulled over to ask directions. Off we went with the directions fresh in my father’s head, only to return several hours later to the exact same spot, having circumnavigated the center of the city to get there.
To deny that my dad was mad would be like trying to put the lava back into an erupting volcano with a tea spoon. I just remember flush faced boiling over anger and total silence from my mother and me the remainder of the trip.
Many years later I also got lost down town. I drove into D.C. from my Air Force barracks to pick up a cute English girl named Georgina who was a governess for a diplomat’s family that lived on so-called Embassy Road.
I knocked on their huge posh door and was ushered in as Georgina told the family, on one of the house’s many intercoms that she was leaving. “Ta, Ta.” Aside from a tour of the White House this was the nicest house I’d ever been in.
My big idea for our date was to see Elvis Presley’s 1968 comeback TV special. So I drove to Georgetown University, parked and entered buildings until I found a dayroom with a TV. We sat on a couch, like we belonged there, and watched Elvis swathed all in black leather in concert after I changed the channel.
Afterwards, I treated her to a fast food burger and fries then returned her to the castle. In other words, it was a great date and reasonably priced.
Now I only knew one way in and one way out of confusing Washington D.C. and I missed a turn. So I drove around the district like a drunk searching for a drink after all the bars had closed.
I got to see Abe at the Lincoln Memorial stand up and stretch after sitting all day like a statue for the tourists. I overheard Thomas Jefferson at the Jefferson Memorial declare that “All men are created equal, except for slaves.” Because he couldn’t have kept his plantation Monticello going financially without all his free slave labor. They later cut that last part out of the Declaration of Independence.
The White House turns all colors of the rainbow on Gay Pride Saturday nights. I spotted the Reflecting Pool churning with mermaids around 4 AM and the reflection of Marilyn Monroe singing “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” like a big haired plunging cleavage billboard in its waters.
At least that’s what I thought I saw in my sleep deprived fevered mind as I chased Route 95 beltway signs that appeared then suddenly disappeared just before leading you to the actual beltway.
I’m surprised I’m not still circling the city, but I got back before my duty started again on Monday morning. The last I heard about Georgina was that she had moved west and married a cowboy. Way to go, girlfriend. Giddyup, Limey.
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