'That man is fat!' and other parental pearls of wisdom

"That man is fat!" Mother lights a cigarette in the checkout line at the supermarket and points toward the flustered gentleman just ahead. My sister stands behind her, mortified. "Mom, that is just so rude. And you can't smoke in here!" Mother smiles sinisterly from her wheelchair and takes a defiant drag. She then raises an eyebrow in that all-knowing look. "Yes I can!"

Mom was not an elderly woman when the supermarket incident took place, probably just a couple years older than I am right now. A stroke at age 42 had debilitated her, though not nearly so much as she'd like to believe. Partially paralyzed on her right side, she could walk with the aid of a cane but generally chose not to (in fact, she fought tooth-and-nail against her physical rehabilitation). Her worst qualities had been amplified by the stroke and the good ones diminished (she chose to latch onto her inner spoiled brat and that aspect of her personality now clearly dominated).

Cut to a family get together, my mother's side of the family. She sulks smugly in the corner before seeing an opening. "My father never loved my mother. He had other lovers, you know - many lovers!" she declares to no one in particular. Aunt Jenny (her mother's sister) goes pale. Mother then adds insult to injury: "He visited prostitutes. His mother was a prostitute!" My sister is unfortunate enough to be the chaperon on this occasion as well. She felt like killing Mother that day, a concentration of all the embarrassments of a lifetime.

My mother-related embarrassments were for the most part restricted to my childhood, as she attempted to proposition my friends' Dads, berated me in front of the neighborhood kids for no reason and generally made fools of us all to the neighborhood. The stroke can't be blamed entirely as much of this took place prior to that blessed event.

My sister wasn't so lucky. She dealt with Mom into her adulthood and in fact still deals with her today. I cut bait with Mom many, many years ago. It doesn't mean she doesn't haunt me - she most definitely does - but simply that I don't recognize her right to continue to do so. Whatever ghost of her influence still clouds my dreams does so because of my unresolved feelings, not due to any fresh infusion of neuroses on her part.

Still, that man was, in fact, fat. So there's that.