Responsible Son

My mother, Margaret Lasky, died twenty-five years ago in January 1995 when she was 88 years-old.  One day this coming week will be the 113th anniversary of her birth.  We always celebrated January 16th, but her birth certificate said the 13th.  

I want to be fair to my mother's memory.  Last month, I posted a rather grim review of her parenting (The Night God Died).  However, there is more to the story of our relationship.

After I turned sixteen, my mother started to loosen up her rules and I learned how to better deal with her.  We then developed a more peaceful relationship.

One time, she and I spent many happy hours together converting a large quantity of fresh strawberries into frozen ones we would enjoy the following winter.  

And then I went off to college.  I'll never forget the moment she and my father left me in my dorm room and I faced the rest of my life with trepidation.  Could I handle being on my own?  Yes!

I returned home from Penn on holidays and at the end of each school year.  In the summer of 1966, I spent virtually the whole time helping my mother do various outdoor chores around our pink brick house (now a dental office) on the western edge of Oswego.  

Over the next 29 years, I visited my mother periodically, first in Oswego and then in Fort Lauderdale, Florida where she moved with my father in 1971.  At first I did it out of a sense of obligation.  But later I started to visit her because I wanted to.

Why the change?  Because she changed.  She became a nicer person.  I grew to like her.

My mother once told me she read an article in a magazine which said it was important to tell your loved ones you loved them.  So she started telling me she loved me.  I knew she did, but it was so nice to hear the words come out of her mouth.

In 1987, I arranged for a party to celebrate my mother's 80th birthday.  Besides my daughter Rachel and I, my brothers Joel and Paul flew to Florida for the event.

Some time later, my mother sensed she needed help, not only in dealing with her finances, but also to be her responsible son in making decisions that affected the remainder of her life.  I was proud she chose me.  

Happy birthday, Mom.  Love, your Kleiner.