I Used To Wish Her A Happy Labor Day

Labor Day, 1942, came on April 13 that year. Not the official holiday we all know and love, but the day of labor for my Mother. As she said, when I wished her a happy labor day years later, “You were no problem at all; you just slid out.” I’m glad for that; I’d hate for her first memories of me to be negative.

So here we are, 68 years later. A lot of people back in Lordship, Connecticut, know a lot of things about me, but either they have graciously short memories, or are deceased. But when I went back 31 years ago having been promoted to an SIP (Somewhat Important Person), nobody mentioned stuff I did as a kid. I’ll always be grateful.

A friend sent me a really funny birthday card. It had two bananas on the front: One fresh and new, the other a day later, all black and splotchy. “Being one day older only matters if you’re a banana.” I woke up the same person I was yesterday, and even if the odometer turns over significantly (40-50-60), it’s still only one day.

What’s the difference between Tommy in grammar school and Tom post retirement age? I’m a better writer, I can read deeper stuff, I realize why reality shows and Yogi Berra’s sayings need to be scripted and edited. Long ago, I thought all the answers were easy; people think I’m a liberal simply because I now know they aren’t.

When I was a kid, born and brought up a Roman Catholic, I used to worship the church. I don’t anymore and probably never will. But, what the heck, it’s home.