Interlude: My Mom

I find that most of my childhood memories revolve around not only my toys, which I spent a great deal of time with, but they revolve around my mom... Which oddly enough, I also spent a great deal of time with.

My mom always had time for me growing up. If I needed help on my multiplication tables, or in the dreaded cursive and penmanship assignments, she was there to help. And when I say she was there to help, I mean she would drop what she was doing to help me, no matter how long it took.

She would bring me with her on errands, and it really wasn't that hard to behave in public for her. She always asked me nicely before leaving the house. I was not threatened, so I never truly feared her. I knew she could get angry, but why risk it when it was so easy to just be quiet and be good? I guess, I saw it as my responsibility, even as a young child, to not embarrass my mom in public. I didn't want to disappoint her. I feared that more than any anger driven punishment.

Since my mother did the shopping for the household with me in tow, my mom was also the one that would buy me my toys. She had a great memory for what she bought me too. I could forget about trading toys with other kids, my mom was a hawk!

As the years went on, and I got older, I started collecting toys. I don't think my mom understood it, but she would defend my collection to any nosey adult that dared stick their head in my room.

Then one day, my mom was cleaning a closet and found my Smurfs. We started talking about my first Smurf, the baker, and it ended in her confession... She always meant to buy me a Smurf house, but it was very costly, so she saved up, but by the time she had enough and went to buy it, the store had sold the only one they had.

I went straight to my computer, jumped online and found one. I bought it without telling her. When the box arrived, I handed to her and told her it was a surprise. She started to cry when she saw it. We opened it up and put a couple of Smurfs in and had a good chuckle.

That Smurf house led to a full village that we put together, the both of us. It was our thing.

When my mom passed away, I could barely look at Smurf, much less bring myself to buy one. I couldn't do it. My heart was completely broken, and the passion was gone. It wasn't fun. It was painful. To whom would I show the latest addition to the village? Who would help me decide where he went?

It took going to a toy show, and walking by a dealer who sold nothing BUT Smurfs to get me to even look at another little blue heartbreaker. I looked. Then I walked away.

As I walked up and down each aisle, looking from booth to booth, and all I could do was think about how my mom would have reacted to seeing so many Smurfs in one place, and instead of fighting back the tears I found myself smiling a little.

Before leaving the show I went back to that dealer and bought a Smurf in a cage. It was one we talked about getting, however we ran out of time. When I got home I dusted off the village and found his place.

February 8th 2011 marks ten years since my mom passed. (That's the hardest sentence I've ever had to write down...)

She taught me everything I know about love, kindness, understanding, speaking up for yourself, cursing, flipping off bad drivers that tailgate you, family, and of course, taking care of your toys.

I love you, mommy. Thank you.

Baker Smurf

I started kindergarten at the ripe old age of 6. It was my first lone venture into the world.

Okay, maybe not so lone. My mommy came along.

You see, until then, I had never been apart from my mother. She was a stay at home mom (or as we called it back in the 70's, "a mom".) She took me everywhere with her. I never had a babysitter nor I was ever left with relatives. No, I was attached at the hip to my mother. You can imagine the look on my face when the whole topic of going to school came up. "What do you mean you drop me off and leave me alone in a room full of strangers?"

There were other issues, of course. Although I was born in the United States, my parents were not. They had immigrated long before I came around, but were still in the process of acclimating. They spoke rudimentary English, enough to get by in NYC, but almost exclusively spoke in Spanish to each other and to other members of the family.  I say "almost exclusively" because they were both fans of cussing in English, but that is a story for another day.

My point in this diversion is to explain that until the age of 6, I spoke only Spanish. I understood very little English. What I knew, I learned from Sesame Street and the cartoons of the day.

When Kindergarten came into play, I found myself being abandoned by my mother, in a room full of strangers who did not understand me, and who I could not understand myself. I felt like an alien. I felt like a baby. So I made like a baby and cried until they called my mommy in to calm me down.

After that, my mother began her unpaid career of "Teacher Helper" for my Kindergarten class. I stopped crying, and started to acclimate myself. Soon I made friends and learn the language...but if my mom ever mentioned retiring from being a helper....waterworks.

One Thursday, on the way home from class, my mom mentioned needing something from the stationary store a block away from the school. It was an old fashioned pharmacy/stationary store/ 5 & Dime kind of place. It's still there in one incarnation or another, if Google Streetview is to be trusted.

While my mom did what she had to, I found myself staring into the glass display counter. It was the first time in my life I ever saw the Schleich Smurf PVC figurines. My mom must have been silently observing me as I went one by one and examined the little blue elves, because she came up behind me and in a soft voice asked if I wanted one, I could have one.

I picked Baker Smurf.

Not because I particularly like baking or baking-like activities. Honestly, I thought he was some sort of digger Smurf with a shovel. Only when I got him home did I realize that it wasn't dirt, but a loaf of bread that he held. I felt a little stupid, but that lasted only for a little bit.

The very next Thursday, on our walk home from school my mom turns to me asks if I wanted to stop by stationary store to look at some more Smurfs. Well, ya I wanted to look at more Smurfs!

Once I was mesmerized by the magical display case bursting at the seams with Smurfy goodness, my mom makes the declaration:

If I behave myself, get good grades, refrain from crying and act like a big girl...every Thursday I will get a new Smurf.

I behaved myself. I got straight A's. I didn't cry.

And ...I got a Smurf every Thursday without fail for at least 2 years.