10. You weren’t a daring cook (a depression child, you couldn’t bring yourself to spend money on luxuries), but you had interesting tastes. You loved blue cheese, olives, and mushrooms. Thanks to you, I do too.
9. You weren’t afraid to make The Ask. Remember helping me sell all those cases of World’s Finest Chocolate-Covered Almonds for the school fundraiser? You went with me, insisted that “No” was only a pause in the sales pitch. I won the grand prize one year—the coveted banana-seat bicycle. Although I’m not quite as brave, I learned enough from you to be our family’s chief negotiator.
8. You’re the family storyteller. If it weren’t for your litany of family tales, many by now would be lost. You know me—I chase the future. But you remind me that past is prologue. I want to tell the stories too.
7. You always find a way to get what you want. Although we have different styles, you taught me how to be doggedly persistent.
6 You felt my pain. I know how to handle mean girls now, but not when I was six. You came to my rescue more than once back then. Girls need that. Thank you.
5. You always got me what I needed. Whether it was an algebra tutor in 9th grade or an early morning steak before my swim meet, you made sure I was covered.
4. Speaking of swim meets—even though I was like Ben Stiller in Meet the Fockers with his 8th place ribbons, you cheered me on as if I were the star swimmer or the best at bat. Thanks for that.
3. You managed to push me without pressure. I never felt stressed to succeed.
2. At nearly 86 you still walk most every morning. Your example helped me start running… and keep running. I hope I’m still at it at 86.
1. OK, so you were a tad overprotective. (Who could blame you? I was your only child and you waited ten years for me.) But in the kitchen you let me do my thing. How else can I explain why I could cut up and fry a chicken by the time I was twelve?
In your honor, here’s my crab cake recipe, the one you always want me to make when you visit. Can’t wait to make them for you again soon.
Love you the mostest, Mom