Anyone who knows me well knows my antipathy towards domestic chores. It was inculcated by a father who would not allow me to do dishes, laundry, or other household chores because "boys don't do that." Having three sisters and being the only son of an old-fashioned East Texas hillbilly father and a 1st generation Mexican-American mother was a very nice place to be in the family order.
I remember being able to come and go pretty much as I pleased. I routinely roamed the North side of Chicago and its downtown, starting when I was about 10 years old. On a typical summer day I would say, "See you later" and be gone until I got hungry or came in for the night. I don't really remember having a curfew. If my sisters went out, they practically had to have J. Edgar Hoover's stamp of approval and a detailed itinerary of where/who/when. As adults, I don't think they've ever expressed to me how unfair they probably thought this was, but I'm sure it chapped their asses plenty.
All this is a long way around the barn to write about the greatest mother I have ever known - my wife. In spite of being hampered with an emotionally stilted husband who refuses to act his age and has any number of character defects, she's done a pretty remarkable job with our children. They're not perfect, but they could be a lot worse.
She's instilled her sense of adventure and positive outlook in our youngest son. He seems to have inherited her people skills. He has more friends than Carter has pills. It has been nice to watch her evolving relationship with our oldest son who is back at home after a year at university. He decided to get a job and take some distance classes while he collects his non-thoughts and decides what steps are next. What was at times a difficult relationship (probably because he is just like me) is turning into a good friendship based on love and mutual respect.
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