"TALK TO ME. I'M YOUR MOTHER."

It was a moment to remember when she had that in your face look. She gave you a once over as she looked at you as if you didn't have a brain in your head. Talk to me I"m your mother was written all over her face but getting a word in edgewise was a luxary not given to us mere mortals. It was when you were quiet that the silence weighed down on her and she seized on it like a pin to a magnet. Then it was talk to me and her eyes were rivited on you just daring you to say a word. I liked to talk but knew better. She weighed what she was going to say as if the words were heavy and she had to spit them out. She usually lowered her glasses to place on her nose while she waited for just the right moment to take command of the situation. Then the glasses slipped back into position when the first words came out. Are you ready to listen? I'm only going to say this once. Which was never true! Talk to me often meant the neighbors; she dished out to them on a silver platter enough bull to grow a garden. They liked her but once back inside the walls of the house the tone changed and the manner was again aggressive. I always knew I loved her but I didn't like her much. She often fought with my dad and it was a royal battle. He drank to excess. I wonder why? Money was the issue and yesterday was quickly brought up again and again. She never said talk to me to him; she screamed at him as if us kids wern't even there. The walls were not only too thin but what bounced off of them turned the air blue and reddened the faces of all who heard. Still ,I couldn't bring myself to say an unkind word to her because she was staggering under the load of bringing up seven kids and a husband who wasn't much help.She worked two jobs. One where she sewed carpets and fixed drapes for a large department store six hours during the day and then went to her second job where she washed and scrubbed hallways and offices in a commercial building for another six hours. I used to go along when I could at night to lighten the load. God knows some battles are fought up hill and this son had no heart to add to his mother's burden. I know that talk to me I'm your mother was a cry to be anywhere but where she with a drunk for a husband who found less work every year. Leisure time was a luxuary she could seldom afford. Perhaps that's why her sharp tongue stung your pride and opened a hole for you to fall in.. She often cursed God and her unhappiness crowed a room. She needed more out of life and knew it wasn't going to happen. The disapointments came each day and talk to me I'm your mother seemed the only way to get back at the world.I listened far past my duty and coudn't give her a hug for she would have none of it.

The wearines wore her down and she often fell asleep darning socks or mending clothes. Her kids needs were relentless and the days dragged into nights and the nights were six hours of sleep on a good day. Talk to me I'm your kid was a luxury she never got around to.