Mom or Dad?

Yesterday morning, my oldest friend (as in years we’ve been buddies) Bonnie informed me that her dad, Marv Ellis, passed away.  At 91 years old, Mr. Ellis enhanced his youngest child’s life for 54 years, a bond made deep by longevity and similarity in personality.  They also shared the same birth date, as did I with her mom.  For much of our childhood, we reveled in telling everyone that not only were we sisters, but that we shared our parent’s birthdays as well.

I’m very glad that a few months ago when I saw her dad last – and was once again struck by just how charismatic he still appeared – that I let him know how much all of Bonnie’s friends thoroughly enjoy her amazingly quick wit. As I would expect, he took complete credit for her natural ability to make others laugh, although rumor has it that Reba Ellis, Bonnie’s mom, had a terrific sense of humor as well.

Since then, I’ve been trying to figure out which personality trait(s) I have, compliments of Florence and David Cohen, which would showcase that genetic connection to someone from the outside looking in.      

The slogan for my dad’s various political campaigns was “Man of Action,” because he not only had strong and progressive ideas, but he had the fortitude to bring them to fruition more often than not.  I remember many times hearing on the radio news station – most likely while waiting for the weather so I’d know what to wear – about the showdown in City Council chambers starring David Cohen.  I think most would agree that his feisty and impassioned speeches and even what appeared to be a bar room brawl once or twice might be a stretch for me to have pulled off.  

He also used to strongly suggest that I massage his feet when I walked by him, and I can’t even imagine asking my kids to do such a thing. 

Maybe I’m more like my mom.  Let’s see…

My mom keeps her opinions to herself unless I pry them out of her.  Even so, she is a woman of few words and, when she does share her thoughts, there is no dancing around:  her message is clear, like it or not. Her seemingly quiet demeanor may stand out to those who have found her to be a formidable adversary in the public arena but, as a mom, she is generally low key unless something really rubs her the wrong way.  I, on the other hand, share my opinions freely and enjoy discussing the many aspects of a particular situation, which I think is just too much dissecting for my momma.         

So upon deep reflection, I’d been hard-pressed to find personality similarities with either of my parents, which I have to admit was rather disappointing.

Last week, however, when I went into town to see my mom, my car loaded with apartment supplies, personal products, food and of course flowers, I was in for a pleasant surprise.

The routine for the past 6 months has been that I drive up to the front door of the apartment building, my mom’s caregiver Torri comes out with a big cart, we fill it up, she goes upstairs with the goods and then I begin my quest for a parking place. The drive around my mom’s building for a spot can be really quick with an immediate sighting (almost never) to a crawl for about 15 or 20 minutes (most often this is the case) around the general vicinity while cab drivers curse at me for not moving fast enough.

This time, I found a space immediately, right across the street from my mom’s apartment, before I even emptied my car.  I grabbed the spot, absolutely delighted that I’d now be able to skip the stressful meander-around-town portion of the trip that irks me the most.  I got my quarters together for the kiosk, put the receipt on my dashboard, walked proudly to the front door of my mom’s building to get the cart…and then I saw her, shaking her head in disapproval.  Yes, there was Torri, immediately reprimanding me for parking across the street and directing me to bring the car over to the front door of the building.

I tried explaining that I was very lucky to get this spot and I’m not going to move it; instead, I suggested that I walk the cart from the building across the street to my car, fill it up, and then one or both of us can walk the cart back into the building.   

Torri was not happy with this plan.  She said I should’ve pulled up to the front door of the building like I usually do, emptied the car contents on to the cart, and then looked for a spot, in that order.  I explained again that this parking place was too good to pass up and it’s really not a big deal to walk the cart across the street twice, which I’ve done on my own a good 25 times or more.

She then told me she’d stand in my spot while I drove my car to the front door to empty it out.  She was clearly trying to reverse my plan to veer from the norm, but I wasn’t budging.  We were at a standstill, she and I, and this isn’t a smart position to be in with the caregiver of one’s mom.  However, with a hot pastrami sandwich in the car for mom’s lunch, which I was afraid was now cold due to this all this silly and time-consuming bickering, I took the cart and started walking it across the street. 

Exasperated with me, she exclaimed, "Judy! You are just like Miss Florence!  You are so stubborn!”     

That’s it!  That’s what I am!  I am stubborn, just like my mom!  I was so happy and proud that Torri recognized it, the way all Bonnie’s friends and I know that she inherited her ability to deliver one-liners par excellence from at least one of her parents.   

That really, really made my day.