Trudy Green’s 78 today. I don’t mind mentioning her age, because she doesn’t seem to mind.
My mother used to “work outside the home”, as it’s now referred to, when we were kids. So we spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s, her mother’s, house. Grandma Williams used to tell us stories about bogeymen and whatnot, and Leslie and I were gullible enough to believe her tales; baby sister Marcia was too savvy to buy into it.
My mother was pretty much unaware of this until we told her when we were adults. This gave her a huge case of the guilts. Was she a good mother? My sisters and I perfected our response, we heard the question so often.
“We’re FINE, Mom! None of us are mass murderers or destitute. We’re happy, reasonably healthy. You were a fine mom, and we love you.” Which worked until she thought of it again.
Happy birthday, Mom. You done good. Really.
