What can I say about a mother who paraded around Geneva, Alabama in colorful clothes, big hats, big jewelry, gossips be damned?What can I say about a mother whose many bracelets clanged as she played the piano at the Baptist church and sang louder than the choir?

What can I say about a mother who encouraged us to sing while she accompanied us on the piano, as if we were giving a grand performance for Liberace?

What can I say about a mother who took me and my sister out of school in the middle of the year, and drove from Alabama to New Mexico to see the Caverns? And during the summer, she stuck us in camp while she studied art.

What can I say about this oldest daughter of Norwegian immigrants who married a man—our daddy—because he promised to buy her a piano and teach her to drive? Or so she claimed. After Daddy died, she chose not to marry again.

What can I say about a mother who loved water and painted beautiful pictures of water, but never learned to swim? Yet, she encouraged us to become good swimmers.

What can I say about her? A mother who raised two daughters alone while preaching: “Cleanliness is next to Godliness. A stitch in time saves nine. Early to bed, early to rise, makes a woman healthy, wealthy and wise. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. And you won’t like most of what you do every day, but if you do one thing you like, you should be happy.”

What can I say about a mother who drove us to New York City to see “My Fair Lady” on Broadway, the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty, and in the middle of the night, when we arrived at the Brooklyn Bridge, said, “Wake up, girls, New York City”?

What can I say about such a woman?

Words fail me, because it isn’t easy to honor a mother who chronicled our lives in movies?

Yes, she filmed us, as if we were stars in a reality show, long before it became popular. Thank God, she took the time to do that, because Alice Kay and I were able to salvage some of that film.

When Mother suffered the first of many strokes and was in a coma, I was certain the end had come. But then, she opened her eyes and said, “I’m so proud of you.”

Unfortunately, Mother is no longer on this earth, but in looking back, I know she did her best in raising me, and when she said she was proud of me, her words meant more than my words can say.

Now I have two grown daughters and a granddaughter and I hope they know how proud I am of them.

Every father’s day I suffer from regrets—regrets because my father died when I was a child—regrets because I wish I’d known him better and more regrets because I certainly could have used his strong guidance when I was growing up.My father died of a heart attack when I was 7-years-old and with every passing year my memories of him become more precious. I only wish I had more of those memories.

I remember how I used to pester Daddy on those rare afternoons when he’d come home early from work. I’d snuggle up to him and chatter endlessly, even though Mama told me, “Don’t bother your daddy. He’s trying to rest.”

On those rare afternoons, Daddy seemed to be listening to whatever nonsense I was spouting as he smoked his unfiltered Camel cigarettes. I must confess, though, I didn’t always listen to him, like the day he brought an old car home from his hardware store.

One of the doors—on the passenger’s side—was missing. Unaware of the danger, I begged Daddy to let me ride along in this mysterious old car.

“Okay, but you have to stay away from the open door,” Daddy cautioned.

I hopped in the car beside him, but soon managed to wiggle away and fall out as we rode up the hill in front of our house. I landed at the bottom of the hill, tousled and breathless.

When I glanced up, I saw Daddy, staring down at me. He didn’t scold. Instead, he said, “Are you all right?”

I felt half dead, but I wanted to impress Daddy by being tough. So I brushed myself off and answered, “Yes.”

“Okay, come on. Get in the car and let’s go,” he said.

Occasionally, Daddy would take us to a movie, but mostly he worked. He wanted to provide his family with the finer things in life: a huge brick home, a fishing pond, a swimming pool, tennis courts and our own merry-go-round. But I would have gladly traded it all for a few more years of sharing moments with him.

I’ve told my daughters their granddaddy was a great guy, but I wish they could have discovered his greatness on their own. I’ve told them of the time when I was a teenager, a strange man was wandering around our house. I called the police because Mother wasn’t home and I was afraid.

When the police questioned the man, he said he used to work for Daddy many years ago: “Whenever I needed work, Mr. Ira would always give me some.”

I’ve shared this story with my daughters because I wanted them to know their grandfather was a good man. I wanted them to know he tried to help others. I wanted them to know he was generous in giving of his time and money.

I only wish he’d had more time for me. And on Father’s Day I am again reminded of how much I miss him.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

I’m interested in what makes people tick and as a writer, I think I need to understand what makes people tick.Although, I must admit, certain characters are hard to define. I’m referring to the outwardly charming, narcissistic sociopath.

Unfortunately, my daughter Rene married one. (She writes about her continuing nightmare in Jesus Loves Me But The Christians Tried To Kill Me: Memoirs From A Jezebel.

I wish she could have avoided the man she calls AntiChrist, but at least she’s blogging about her experience, warning and entertaining others in the process.

However, I’m thinking I need to post some red flags that say look out for this sicko. Be warned the narcissistic sociopath can ruin your life.

With that in mind, I came across this quiz. If you answer yes to most of the questions below, run, run run away, end the relationship NOW. The narcissistic sociopath will NEVER change.

1. Does he or she act out in verbally aggressive behaviors, or does he or she have ‘rages’, especially if he or she feels insulted in some way? Does he or she blame ‘you’ or accuse you of being the one that is ‘acting out’ or ‘out-of-control’?

2. In the beginning was he or she just ‘too good to be true’?

3. Does he or she rely on you financially, or does he or she ask you to help fund things?

4. Does he or she often spend outside of the budget?

5. Is everything always about him or her and nothing ever about you? Does he or she seem insensitive to your needs, unappreciative of your input, or non-acknowledging of your accomplishments? Does he or she not recognize your giving, kindness, and thoughtfulness? Does he or she seem genuinely not interested in your life?

6. Is he or she controlling? Do you often feel manipulated?

7. Does he or she show one side (Dr. Jekyll) to the public (a perfected persona which you know is fake), and another side (Mr. Hyde) to you in private? Does he or she go out of the way to impress people?

8. Does his or her ego bruise easily, or is he or she hyper-vigilant to the slightest insult? Do you have to be careful how you word things or voice grievances?

9. Does he or she expect special treatment or feel ‘entitled’ to it?

10. Does he or she talk about himself or herself more than you feel is normal?

11. Does he or she avoid eye contact with you, or does he or she withhold sex or affection? Has he or she been unfaithful?

12. Does he or she seem to lack empathy or compassion for others, or does he or she ‘fake’ it to enhance ‘public persona’?

13. Do you feel emotionally battered and confused?

14. Have you noticed your confidence or self-esteem slipping?

15. Is he or she histrionic? In other words, in public does he or she hog the limelight, putting on exaggerated shows and telling fascinating stories in order to be the center of attraction?

16. Is he or she loud or does he or she become center stage when engaging in simple conversations with other people?