@Tai Chi,
Ahah! Too right.
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We did end up asking for “how we met” stories and the like.
If anybody has a minute I’d appreciate some feedback on mine. I think it needs a little tweaking still. It’s meant to be spoken. Specifically, I’d like to know if I overused the asides, which I hope will be humorous. There is truth in all of them.
One remark first. Scott is very quiet, which everyone will know.
Mom and I really met when I was a baby. She’d given birth to me not long after she met my twin brother, who she’d delivered less than ten minutes earlier. Surprisingly, I really have no recollection of the event, though I must have known her intimately by that time, having invaded her body with my accomplice many months earlier.
No doubt we were an instant hit with our older brother and sister who must have secretly marveled that twin babies required such little attention.
We were, to all accounts, perfectly behaved even then, so I won’t recount the tedious details of the next 50 years except to say “Damn we were such good kids and never caused her any worry.”
You’re welcome, Mom.
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And most of her kids are brilliant. OK Mom, we’re ALL brilliant, in our own way… but I look at Kent who wouldn’t join MENSA (because they’re too boring) and Dale (who loves her children as fiercely as anyone I know), and Scott…the chatty one (who stole the heart of Margaret, our housekeeper), and I see so many of their fine attributes, and I know who should get most of the credit (or blame).
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The years have flown, haven’t they? From soldering baby carriages… to management…certified graphologist, hobby business operator, and right up to her present position as a board chair, she’s done it all! She’s open minded, beautiful, funny, kind hearted, optimistic, and forgiving. She is now, and always has been, ahead of her time. Yes, my mom fights the good fight. She’s a fair, just and true warrior (did I say warrior? I meant worrier).
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It’s hard to find the right words, you know?
I love her. I love you, Mom.
It’s as if Kahlil Gibran looked into my heart when he wrote that to love is “To know the pain of too much tenderness,” and there are times that I could weep at the beauty of that sentence.
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All of you are here today because you love her, too.
But Mom?
I know you love me best.
You can trust me, I won’t tell anybody.
Happy Birthday!