My son, the athlete
Last Monday, I was having supper with some friends. We were sipping our lattes when my cell phone rang: my youngest son Forty had a fall while practicing some acrobatic moves and dislocated his pinkie. He was being taken to the Hôtel Dieu Hospital and I should go meet him there.
I spare you the details of the ordeal. I arrived at the hospital at 10 something and we did not get home until 3 in the morning, 95% of the time were spent waiting. They reset his finger and put it in a brace but we would have to return tomorrow morning for an appointment at 8:30. So the next day, we were back at 8:15. In the parking lot, the attendant asked me how long I was going to be and I naively said: Oh, about an hour or two. He didn’t burst out laughing, bless his heart, but just looked at me funny and said: Gimme a deposit of 12$ just in case. This time, we did not get out until 3 in the afternoon. Forty’s finger is now in a cast and, guess what, we have to come back on Friday at 9:30 to remove the cast, so I figure I will have to clear my agenda until 4 or 5 PM that day.
My mother, the tragedienne
I was reading blogs on the web when suddenly my mother appeared on my side. I have taken back the key to my apartment which I gave her in a moment of weakness, so I was not expecting her arrival, but she has taken advantage of today being cleaning day and the cleaning lady leaving the front door open because she has to clean both our apartments.
My mother, all solemn and tragic, said: «I’m here to beg you to stop being angry at me.»
— [startled] WTF? Please go away.
— I don’t have much longer to live, you know. Please don’t stay mad at me.
— You’ve been saying this for the past five years. Would you please leave me alone!
— So, are you still mad at me or not?
— Mom, I don’t have time for your childish games. It doesn’t matter whether I’m mad at you or not, I don’t want to be with you. So if you’re trying to get me to say that I will spend more time with you, I’m telling you right now that I won’t and I will continue avoiding you as much as I can. I don’t want you to spy on me or to check on me or to keep calling me for no reason. I used to care, now I don’t anymore, so just go away.
— But you know that I worry that something bad happened to you if I don’t see your car in the parking.
— Again, it’s your problem, Mom. I keep telling you to get medical help for your condition, but you keep refusing to see a psychologist, so I will not bear the consequences of your craziness anymore.
— What if I promise you that I won’t do these crazy stuff again.
— You’ve been saying this for years now, and every month or so, you go nuts and pull your crazy stunts again. Look, we’ve been having the same conversation over and over again. Enough with your drama queen act and your tragic scenes take two. Just go back to your apartment and leave me in peace.
I’m marking down this date, to see how long it will take her this time before she has another attack.