A lot of the energy for my work comes out of my mother issues.
I was raised by a real strong mother who, having grown up in difficult circumstances herself in Brooklyn, created a large strong family and kept the trains running. I got my unfortunate entitlement issues from being a Jewish prince in that family, and I got my mistrust of authority from battling with my omnipotent, shrewd mother, who didn’t always show her cards. I tried to grow up, still I had those issues. They fed my work, and sometimes disturbed it. I became aware in middle age that I was hurt by my entitlement, my lack of shrewdness, and my mistrust of authority.
The other night I took a train into Philadelphia at 12:45 a.m. for a magazine assignment I have (praise the lord) and got to my parents’ house after 1. My parents are in Cape Cod. My mother had given me the code to get into her house. For some reason it wasn’t working, I couldn’t get the door to open. I walked around the house in despair and wondered where I could sleep in the bushes. I tried again and again.
Finally I called my mother at 1:20. It’s a cruel thing to do to someone of 80, call them in the middle of the night. It means that someone’s died. I didn’t want to sleep in the bushes.
My mother picked up on the first ring. She claimed she was up for some reason, she wakes up. I guess she was. My mother has a strong clear voice, she’s not easily rattled; and there was no sleep in her voice. She guided me into the house. I’d stupidly failed to push hard on the door, that was all. What a fool. I went to bed.
The next day I called my mother to apologize. I’m sorry and embarrassed, I said. Don’t be sorry, but you can be embarrassed, she said.
And I had a joyful feeling, talking with my mom as I walked down Market Street in Philly.
In the days after that I realized something had changed in me. I just loved my mother all the way, was the feeling. I’d reverted in that nighttime panic to a child’s role, and though my mother is getting older, she had flashed her great powers. I had seen how strong and beautiful they were, in dissolving my panic in the dead of night.
That’s all. Though I know too that there is a light on the Jewish matriarchy in this post. Jewish women are more powerful than Jewish men; that’s been my experience. It’s formed my view of the world and society, sometimes errantly. It’s formed Israeli leadership, too, I venture. Here’s to my matriarch, who showed me the path.
Funny thing about age. I used to think people as old as I am now to be too old to talk to, yet I feel enriched by age, not diminished. I remember my Jewish mentor’s wife in NYC at 79 year’s old, a vibrant fabulous woman with a 21-year-old girl’s legs — no shit — telling me that she felt no differently inside than she did at 29. It was the mirror that reminded and depressed her, tempus fugit.
So your 80-year-old mother is still talking to her Jewish Prince, and things are no different to her than they were three or four decades ago. I’ll bet if you pressed her, she was happy that you still needed her at 1:20 AM; she was expecting it at some point. The crack about embarrassment was for your benefit, not hers.
My mother had given me the code to get into her house. For some reason it wasn’t working, I couldn’t get the door to open. I walked around the house in despair and wondered where I could sleep in the bushes. I tried again and again.
Great post, Phil. Very true about the power of Jewish mothers. With yours, you would’ve been sleeping in the bushes, which kinda sorta sounds like an anology for something much larger than it’s literal meaning.
Your mother is a strong woman. I can imagine her saying “you can be embarrassed”.
There’s humor in that.
RE: “I’d reverted in that nighttime panic to a child’s role, and though my mother is getting older, she had flashed her great powers. I had seen how strong and beautiful they were, in dissolving my panic in the dead of night.” – Phil
MY COMMENT: Beautifully written! I’m glad that you have finally gotten in touch with your ‘inner child’. This is a very important ‘breakthrough’, and doggonit people like you (and your mother)!
DISCLAIMER: Like Stuart Smalley, I am not a licensed therapist.
Beautiful post and a prediction of my (3) sons in my old age:-) And gee wiz, I ain’t even Jewish!
Interesting. When I think of my mother, I don’t think of her ethnicity or power. I’m not even sure what is supposed to characterize WASP mothers. Any clues, Margaret?
Yes, very interesting. When I think of my mother, I don’t think of ethnicity or power either. I think of unconditional love. And an open mind, always curious about any aspect of life anyone presented. She was a tolerant person. She was Irish. Also interesting, my wife’s father was similar. He was a Russian Jew. OTH, my father, and my wife’s mother–OMG…
Todd – Of Irish-Italian heritage, mixed up with Native American influences and a dash of Old Pennsylvania Dutch, I’ve always identified the WASPs as the ‘lace-Irish,’ with us supposedly being of the ‘shanty’ kind. But things are never that simple, especially not several generations on from when such characterizations were current. If one forgets the P for Protestant, and considers the WASPs as the privileged, ‘white’ folk, then my mother was of that group. But she doesn’t fit easily into characterization, neither in who she was, nor in drawing generalities from her.