Titanic

My mom and I both had birthdays this week.  That means two things:

1.  I totally ruined my mom's 31st birthday by forcing her to hobble around with a two-week-overdue baby inside her.
2.  I totally ruined all my mom's subsequent birthdays by overshadowing them with my own impending festivities.  I did buy her a really nice pair of Adidas one year, though.

My mom has put up with a lot of other things from me over the years, especially my obsessive personality.

When I was five, any time I rode in the car, the song "Part of Me, Part of You" by Glenn Frey had to be played on repeat while I sang along and pretended I was recording a music video in the fold-down mirror.

Our car had a cassette player, so we had to wait each time while the tape re-wound.

I was convinced a music mogul would pass us on the highway one day, see my burgeoning talent, and give me a record deal.  Sure, I was five, and I looked like a boy due to the pixie cut I'd insisted on getting earlier that year, but I didn't care.  My stylists would figure out a way to make me look like a nineteen-year-old model.

But that was all just a precursor to the most epic obsession of my childhood.

When I was nine, I saw Titanic eight times. 

Most of those were with my mother, the only person with the patience, love, and mental fortitude to indulge my Leonardo DiCaprio-fueled obsession with a movie that was more than three hours long.

The first time, my parents and I all enjoyed the movie equally.

Even the second time, I like to think Mom got a hint of enjoyment out of seeing the movie again.

The third time, I argued that my best friend had to see the movie.

Meemaw and Pappaw saw it with me.

But Mom bore the brunt of my Titanic craze.

Sometimes, we'd go to the theater intending to see another movie, until I inevitably noticed Titanic was still playing.

The worst part was, my nine-year-old brain was incapable of fully comprehending the tragedy playing out on the screen.  While Mom was forced to sit through the same gut-wrenching scenes eight times, I remained completely unaffected.

I didn't realize what a terrible thing I'd done to my mother until I re-watched Titanic last year for the first time since my childhood.

 

 

 

 Some kids need therapy because of their parents.  My parents probably need therapy because of me. 

They'll have to settle for this blog post for now, though.

Happy birthday, Mom!

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