Conversations With Mom by Jayne Lester Sergent
Admit it; we love when members of our family call us! Especially when innocent telephone calls unexpected or, as Jane shares, slightly predictable humorous twists. Dare we laugh while on the phone?
For instance, the is a verbatim telephone conversation we had recently:
Me: Hello?
Mom: It's me. Are you watching the news?
Me: Yeah, why?
Mom: I think it's terrible! Did you see where those kids are spray-painting confetti all over town?
Me: Graffiti.
Mom: What?
Me: It's graffiti, not confetti.
Mom: Graffiti, confetti, WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?
Me: Well, actually, Mom, confetti is . . .
Mom: And another thing!
Me: What?
Mom: Never mind, I have to hang up. Emeril's coming on! (She would kill for Emeril Lagasse.)
Click. Dial tone.
That's my mom. She's hilarious without trying to be. She couldn't care less if we laugh at her. She's smart and beautiful and if you don't believe me, just ask her. She'll be eighty in November, but you would never know it.
The funniest conversations were between my mom and my dad, before he died. She was forever trying to keep him on his low-salt, low-fat, low-cholesterol, and, as he stated, low-taste diet. One day, she and I were talking on the phone, when she said, "Hold on, Jayne," and yelled, directly into the phone, it seemed, "VIRGIL! Just because it says LITTLE DEBBIE LIGHT, it does NOT mean you can eat the whole box!"
I couldn't hear Dad's response, but apparently he told her would eat them if he wanted to, because when she came back on the line, she said, "The next time you come up here, write down the number for the funeral home and leave it by the phone, okay?"
My dad wore a hearing aid, but kept it turned off when just he and Mom were home. At least that's what Mom said. Wonder why?
The conversation, the summer before he got it, between the two of them and the Bel-Tone representative, was priceless, and I just happened to be there. Mom and I were sitting on their front porch that early spring day, and Dad was installing some gadget on the dash board of his truck, in the drive-way, when the phone rang. (they had a phone on the porch, that all the neighbor kids would sneak and use, but that's another story . . .) Mom answered it and asked the caller to hang on. "VIRGIL," she yelled. No response. "VIRGIL!" He didn't answer, on purpose, I suspected. Finally he stuck his head out of the truck and looked at her, blankly. "There's a lady on the phone from Bel-Tone, and she wants to know if you want a free hearing test," she said.
Without changing his expression, Dad replied, "HUH?"
"Sign him up!" Mom told the representative, who was laughing loudly by this time. My mother was not amused. It made her mad to have to repeat herself. I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe. Dad looked as if he just didn't get whatever we were talking about, and went back to working on his truck.
Another time, Mom talked Dad into buying her a new range. Off they went to Sears, with my younger brother, Steve, tagging along, just for the experience. He told me later that the salesman had shown them several models, and Mom, knowing it might be years before she had another chance, selected the most expensive one. Steve said when they got to the register, and the clerk presented Dad with the bill, he asked, "Don't you have a cheaper one with just two settings, HIGH and BURN?"
And so it went. Married for forty-five years, my parents were each others best friends and worst enemies, at the same time. My siblings and I actually worried about them when they weren't bickering about something. We knew they loved each other, and us. They both were the type of people who just had to have the last word.
Just a few minutes ago, my mother called me with that same old question:
"Are you watching the news?"
"No."
"Did you hear about those two little boys that had paper guns, and they had to go in front of a judge?"
"Yes, isn't that ridiculous?"
"No, they could have killed somebody!"
"Mom, the guns were made out of pap . . . isn't it time for Emeril?"
"Yes! I'm glad you reminded me!"
Click. Dial tone.
"Bye, Mom."
About This Story's Author:
Jayne Lester Sergent is a Registered Nurse with over twenty years experience in patient care. Jayne is a lifelong writer, studying the craft professionally over the past two years. She enjoys writing non-fiction and humor. Her work has been published on Einkwell and Teen Seen It All
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