Brian Matuszak column: You can fool some of the people some of the time, except for your motherSo it’s Mother’s Day! Time to celebrate the only person willing to buy and wash your underwear, cook your oatmeal to the perfect consistency (mud), and then throw all your baseball cards into the trash while you’re out playing on the railroad tracks. Mom, I love you!
So it’s Mother’s Day! Time to celebrate the only person willing to buy and wash your underwear, cook your oatmeal to the perfect consistency (mud), and then throw all your baseball cards into the trash while you’re out playing on the railroad tracks. Mom, I love you!
OK, got that out of the way. Now I don’t have to fight the crowd of guys at the card store this weekend, picking over the barren shelves like crows at a deer carcass on the side of Highway 53.
What’s that, you say? One opening paragraph in a lame humor column doesn’t demonstrate proper gratitude? How dare you! I’ll have you know that my mother is a woman of few words, most of them directed at my younger self and set at a volume that would blow the snow out of April.
She is a saint, a person who never expects lavish praise and/or expensive presents. Sure, she deserves them every day of the year, every hour of the day, but in reality, she is happy with whatever she gets. It’s from her kid, after all. Heck, it’s more than most parents get in a lifetime.
Think about it. As parents, we trudge through our daily existence of monotony, hoping to hear those three words from our kids that make it all worth it: “I need money.” I’m kidding, of course. The REAL three words we desire to hear from our children’s mouths are:
“I have money.”
But until the day arrives when our offspring start earning revenue in what we hope is an above-the-board operation, we’ll settle for scraps like the words I have scrawled at the top of this page: an opening paragraph of heartfelt emotion and —
OK, just got a text from Mom and she’s not buying it. Not sure how she can comment live on a column that was written a week ago, but I better not question it.
Mothers can control time, space, and dimension better than a super combination of Doctors Who, Brown, McCoy, and Seuss. You can never slip one by your mom. Even if you successfully shift blame for the broken lava lamp in the den to your brother by slipping the gooey baseball bat under his bed, she’s able to examine it with one look and know it was you.
Moms are like walking CSI labs, only quicker.
One time, I ripped open a box of Cap’n Crunch and fed the whole thing to the dog, just so I could get the free Crunchberry Beast whistle that was inside. The results weren’t pretty, but I’ve been able to pin that yardful of warm, sugary dog piles on my sister for years! Hah! I’m like some kind of super child villain! I rule! HAHAHAHA!!!
Hold on. Getting another text from Mom. …
Brian Matuszak is the co-founder of Renegade Comedy Theatre, founder of Rubber Chicken Theater, and tries to employ the same support, wisdom, and patience with his daughter that his mom exhibited with him. Don’t call your mom today and tell her how much she means to you. Call her yesterday.