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Next Sunday was Mother’s Day and Calvin had plans for what he and Susie would be doing, which was leaving the kids with a sitter and going out to dinner and a movie, the latest super hero movie at her insistence. She might not have liked comic books at all when she was younger – the same age that their oldest was now, but she’d grown to like them. Getting out to see a movie without hearing advice shouted to the characters – ‘Use the sonic beam emitter in your utility belt!’ ‘Punch her in face she’s a bad guy!’ and exaggerated gagging sounds during any scene that contained any hint of romance was a welcome change of pace.
Right now, in the calm before the storm that was the end of dinner and right before bath time, he was able to get a few moments to himself to start writing a letter. Hand writing letters was something that dad had instilled in him from a young age and it was something he was glad for.
Dear Mom,
Now that I’m a parent I’ve been thinking a lot about what you and dad did for me.
Not the most inspired start, in fact he was pretty sure that he’d used it in previous Mother’s Day letters, but it was true and even if he was an author there were times when he had the right to be let than eloquent.
Not just the obvious stuff, but all the little things I took for granted. Bedtime stories are a given, but letting me live out those stories when you weren’t making me go to school. I think of all those times you took out your sewing box and patched up Hobbes (he’s doing fine by the way, says I still can’t make a tuna sandwich as good as you did, but I think that’s just him giving me a hard time), and the way you took the time to sew me my own Stupendous man cape. You made sure that every time we got a new appliance (sorry about the microwave and the toaster oven, and the egg beaters too) that the box was saved for me. I still remember the time the older couple down the road got a new refrigerator and you saw the box and asked to take it home for me. The adventures we had with it.
Having kids of my own really made me appreciate how big those little things are. You taught me that to be a superhero all I had to do was imagine. Even if you didn’t get why I liked comic books so much you’d buy them for me when we went out shopping. Over the summer, when I was bored you’d take me to the library and let me take out whatever books I wanted. At the time I didn’t even think of it as learning, to me learning was all the boring stuff we did in school. Library books were fun and that was totally different. I guess it was a kind of stealth learning. A lot of what you taught me was like that though, I never even realized it until it ended up being something that I needed to know.
You were the one that showed me how I didn’t even need to leave the house to have an adventure, though I can understand why you had to throw me out to play outside. When I’d announce to you that I was going to the moon or running away to the Yukon or Mongolia or wherever else the latest book from the library took me you just nodded and set me on my way, making sure that I had a good lunch packed in case I got hungry on the trip. Looking back I didn’t appreciate it, but now you can bet that I do.
Even if you didn’t understand the world I lived in, you never stifled it. Putting up with my imagination and the trouble Hobbes and I got into was a full time job for sure.
And thinking of Hobbes, I remember how for Christmas, you always made sure that he got a gift as well. Even now we carry on that tradition, there’s always canned tuna under the tree for him, though last year the kids got some catnip seeds for us to plant for him in the spring. I’ll never forget the year, you got me that big coffee table book with all the pictures of tigers. I still have it, ‘Hobbes’ Yearbook’ is what we call it and we tell stories about all the tigers in it. I’ll have to write a few of them down eventually and send them to you. I think they might remind you of someone.
Seeing things from the other side of the equation gave me a whole new perspective on pretty much all of it... Knowing when to ask questions and what questions to even ask, and when to smile and nod and pretend you understand. Just yesterday I had to learn what a pavlova was (it’s a kind of meringue with fruit on top – guess who has a new favorite food and wants a ballerina themed birthday this year). It made me stop and think about all the times I tried to tell you about dinosaurs, how you’d stop whatever you were doing and listen to me, even when I got exasperated when you couldn’t remember all the names. Let me tell you, I wish it were dinosaurs and not ballet. Not that it’s not fun how much fun she’s having, but let me tell you, I’m in way over my head here.
Now I get it, how hard you tried, even when I might as well have been talking nonsense.
Oh, by the way, thanks for the cookbooks you gave me last time we visited. I can’t believe that the secret to that meatloaf was powdered onion dip and mixing the catsup into the meat. Since you haven’t heard about it on the news, rest assured that I haven’t managed to set the kitchen on fire yet, though I’ll have to tell you about the tort incident some time. Who would have thought that one little bit of aluminum foil could have caused the microwave to do that? Actually, I probably should have known, because didn’t I do the same thing with a spoon and a bowl of oatmeal once? Or was it a baked potato?
And not to change the subject, but I’m going to change the subject. This year you and dad are coming here for Christmas, no questions asked. I know it’s early to even bring it up, but now you can’t insist that we’re springing it on you last minute. You’re not imposing and we’re not going to let you stay at a motel, we have the guest bedroom for a reason. Consider yourself warned. Also – those cookies you’d make every year, the candy cane ones, what did you put in them? I know it wasn’t peppermint. Because we’ve kind of got an issue with a picky eater here and your trick of coming up with a crazy story about what the food really was isn’t working. Spider legs and stuffed shrunken monkey heads still makes me laugh – how on earth did you ever come up with that on the spot? Or was I really that bad that you’d been planning it the whole time you were cooking? We’ve been making due by putting everything on pizza or mixing it into pancakes (rainbow pancakes, with carrot, beat and green pea puree mixed in), but those cookies are a favorite and I think whatever the flavor is might be the trick to making mashed potatoes part of a meal again and with mashed potatoes comes meatloaf.
Oh, and because you asked the other day when we were talking on the phone – the next book in the works isn’t going to be a children’s book. I’m working on, at Susie’s insistence, a ‘fictional autobiography’. In her spare time she’s taken to illustrating some of the ‘adventures’ we’ve been having as parents and we’re going to be working together to write the book that goes with them. They’re really great, next time we visit she’s going to bring her sketchbook to show you some of what she has so far. Your input would be appreciated (dad’s too, but don’t tell him yet, I don’t want to give him time to prepare anymore embarrassing stories about me – I don’t believe the birdbath one and nothing either of you say will convince me otherwise), and not just because she wants to do a few flashbacks to the antics she and I got up to when we were kids.
All in all things are the usual crazy around here and –
I just heard something crash. Talk to you soon.
Love,
Calvin
P.S. I was just kidding about the crash! We’re all fine, nothing’s on fire.
Reading over the letter one he smiled and folded it up to mail tomorrow.
There may not have been a crash, but it was his night to read bedtime stories and if he didn’t get upstairs soon there was sure to be trouble.