Part of what makes a person mature, the thing that makes them worth knowing, is their ability to admit their mistakes. To say, “Yes, I was wrong. You are right,” is a horse-sized pill to swallow. I want to know people with the capability of swallowing it all, without question, every last drop of their mistake(s).
Last night, I gave my mother what was quite possibly the worst tongue lashing I’ve ever given anyone. She listened and agreed. She was wrong. I was right. My baby is called “Tex in the City”, and until it provides me with the income I am currently afforded by filling Viagra prescriptions and rushing insulin to various chi-chi NY restaurants, well, it’s still in diapers and needs my nurturing. I told her, “Consider it adopted from Korea. It doesn’t carry your DNA, but you have to love it just the same.” Besides, my baby won’t grow up to be a paranoid schizophrenic a$$hole like some people, so she should love it even more.
She also said, “Please don’t tell anyone. I’m ashamed.” Umm, too late.
She’ll be making her third trip to NYC next week. Her first consisted of a Big Apple Tour Bus across the City with NO stops. (They were a-scared.) Her second included the premiere of an award-winning feature film and various touristy stops. Her third, well, I hope it will be the charm. No parties, no premieres, no paparazzi — just possibilities . . . and me, her potty-trained, self-sufficient, fiercely independent baby.