Shortly after I moved down to Los Angeles my mother's car was stolen. It was a 1984 Cutlass Supreme in "money green". Her dream car. She bought it after my dad died and was determined to have a brand new car that would not break down on her like the previous used cars she'd had. Also, it was a major source of cheering up! When the police found it ("Well, thank God"), it had been abandoned for whatever reason and was just three blocks from the house. Luckily, it was intact and in fairly good condition. It needed some minor work with the ignition and steering column, but my brother George is a mechanic and was able to fix it quickly.
My favorite part of this episode was my mom's reaction to her car being stolen in the first place. She'd had recently gone on Prozac after MANY years of cajoling ("That's a MIND CONTROL DRUG!"). They apparently had JUST kicked in. She was upset but took the theft in stride and was prepared to get a new car with the insurance money if necessary ("What else can you do?"). When the police came to her door to notify her that it had been found, they described its location, its general condition and reluctantly that some of the thief's possessions had been left in the car; a comb, some food wrappers...a crack pipe...!!
Without missing a beat, my mother cut off the officer and said, "Oh no, that's mine." My mom had a great sense of humor and could deliver a deadpanned line like nobody else. I inherited this trait as my friends can attest. The cops were DUMBFOUNDED and awkwardly exchanged confused glances as my mom held her ground somberly and unblinkingly. Much to their relief, she eventually started laughing and explained that she was joking. She thanked them profusely and had her car back later that day.
As it turned out, my mom's car was a highly coveted car for people into "low-riders", hence the theft. She originally custom ordered it with all the "bells and whistles" including high end spoke rims so it practically WAS an unwitting low-rider from the beginning! Just add some dingle-ball upholstery trim, hydrolic lifts and hit 23rd street to cruise... Horale Homegirl! Si MON! She was asked on a weekly basis is she wanted to sell it. She always declined.
When my mother died last year I thought about her sense of humor often. Cleaning out her house, preparing it to be sold, my sister Terry and I laughed every day as we found things from our childhood, shared memories of growing up on Bush Avenue and remembered our mother. We cried a lot too, but only when we were alone and only in private. There are five kids in my family. There's drug addiction, hurt feelings, distance, love and animosity as is in most I assume. As I learned last year, death compounds these issues. It draws you closer, drives deeper wedges, teaches you a lot about the people in your life and most profoundly, it teaches you about yourself. Dealing with the aftermath of my mother's death was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I learned SO much about myself and for that, I am profoundly grateful.
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