Mom insisted that her children follow some basic principles or precepts that she reiterated throughout childhood and which I still abide by:
- Don’t use the N-word.
- Always wear a seat belt.
- Brush your teeth daily.
What is remarkable is that Mom defined these well before they became universally accepted: New York state enacted the first laws mandating seat belt use in 1984. However, the most enjoyable is what I call The Birthday Rule.
Education was always important to Mom and she would allow you to miss school for any reason other than being legitimately and decently sick: chicken pox, severe cold or flu, sliced thumb tendon were acceptable, but otherwise each morning you got on the school bus and went to school. From fourth grade through eleventh grade, on average I missed one day per year for illness.
By my sophomore year, Mom knew I was a good student and one less day in school wasn’t that impactful. On my sixteenth birthday, she allowed me to skip school: we drove to Clinton, she gave me a roll of quarters, and I played lots pinball. Technically, she was trying to get solo guitar gigs for my step-father and I went along to run the cassette deck – my absence note said Scott was needed at home – but in reality it was pinball, pizza and candy bars. Absolute heaven.
Since, other than taking college midterms, I do not attend classes or work on my birthday, a traditional that I steadfastly maintain year over year. My pre-marriage birthdays could be spent on mundane tasks such as doing laundry or chipping sidewalk ice, but I was not at work. After marriage, birthdays are joint affairs – my wife’s birthday is within days of mine – and we make an event of it, often including trips somewhere.
All started when Mom finally allowed me to skip school for no legitimate reason! Thank you, Mother!
