uncle mickey
01-22-2004, 10:08 AM
WHERE’S MY MAMA? (730 words) A personal essay
by Uncle Mickey
It was a beautiful August morning. I was excited. After nearly thirty years, I was finally going to see my Mother face to face, again.
The years had flown by so quickly it is hard to imagine.
We had planned on visiting one another, it just never happened. I moved from California to live in Illinois where I met and married my wife, Roberta. Soon, we had children at home, and mother remained in California. The distance between Illinois and California made a quick visit almost impossible. Next, my step father, my mothers second husband passed away leaving her with my younger brother to raise and put through school. Then there was my job. And financially neither my Mother nor we could afford the trip. It was the old story: When we had the time, we didn’t have the money—When we had the money, we didn’t have the time; That no longer mattered. My Mother would be arriving at Saint Louis by plane in just a few hours. The wife and I were on our way to meet her, and bring her to our home for a week stay.
What I didn’t know then, I was about to learn that a person can not rely on their mind’s eye or past memories of a loved one to be accurate.
We arrived at the airport early and proceeded to the gate where my Mother would deplane and enter the terminal.
“Do you think you’ll know her?” My wife asked.
“Are you crazy? Of course I’ll know her––she’s my mother. Don’t you think I’ll know my own mother?” I remembered her clearly.
Tall and slender, but with a figure—long flowing hair that hung nearly to hip length. Mom was in show business before she remarried and had worked with some of the best in the field of burlesque: Mickey Rooney, Art Carney, Johnnie Ray, and many others. She had been a ‘star’ in the forties.
The wife and I stood there smiling at each passenger as they made their way down the isle, past us, and on into the terminal. Where’s my Mama? I thought. When all of the passengers had apparently gotten off the plane, Roberta and I made our way over to the information desk.
“Would you check and see if Misses Roxie Read was on the flight when it left Los Angeles, Please?”
After a few moments… “Yes, she did board the plane, sir.”
“Did the plane make any stops?” I asked.
“Just one, Sir, a two hour stop-over at Denver.”
“Would you check and see if she was on the flight when it left Denver?”
“Yes, she was on the plane when it left Denver.”
That’s strange, I thought. Neither the wife nor I had seen her, and we were standing closer than three feet away from the entrance when the passengers deplaned. Either the airline was mistaken about her being on the plane, or Mom had jumped out somewhere between Denver and Saint Louis. I knew the airlines couldn’t be mistaken, but somehow I doubted she had jumped. So the wife and I proceeded to the car rental area where a car had been reserved in my mother’s name.
“Has Misses Read picked up her vehicle yet?” I asked.
“No. She has not.”
What now? I thought. I went to the phone booth and called my Mom’s home…NO ANSWER….
This was beginning to be a mystery. And a certain amount of terror had begun to creep in. Somehow my Mother had vanished in thin air; literally. Following my wife’s suggestion, and with nothing to lose, I proceeded over to the paging booth.
“Would you please page Misses Roxie Read, and have her to come to the information booth where her son and daughter-in-law are waiting for her?”
Just as the young man started over to pick up the microphone I heard, “Would Mister Mickey Clarke please come to the information booth? Someone is waiting for you.”
“Hey,” I hollered, “that’s me. Who’s paging me?”
“The lady standing next to you,” he replied.
I turned to see a short, heavy-set, elderly, white-haired-lady in her late seventies. Not the tall, sexy, movie star my Mother had been when I last saw her when in my early twenties.
“Gee,” I said smiling, “I didn’t recognize you, Mom. I wasn’t looking for a short-haired, lady.”
“Well,” she hesitated smiling back, “I wasn’t looking for a potbellied old man either.”
by Uncle Mickey
It was a beautiful August morning. I was excited. After nearly thirty years, I was finally going to see my Mother face to face, again.
The years had flown by so quickly it is hard to imagine.
We had planned on visiting one another, it just never happened. I moved from California to live in Illinois where I met and married my wife, Roberta. Soon, we had children at home, and mother remained in California. The distance between Illinois and California made a quick visit almost impossible. Next, my step father, my mothers second husband passed away leaving her with my younger brother to raise and put through school. Then there was my job. And financially neither my Mother nor we could afford the trip. It was the old story: When we had the time, we didn’t have the money—When we had the money, we didn’t have the time; That no longer mattered. My Mother would be arriving at Saint Louis by plane in just a few hours. The wife and I were on our way to meet her, and bring her to our home for a week stay.
What I didn’t know then, I was about to learn that a person can not rely on their mind’s eye or past memories of a loved one to be accurate.
We arrived at the airport early and proceeded to the gate where my Mother would deplane and enter the terminal.
“Do you think you’ll know her?” My wife asked.
“Are you crazy? Of course I’ll know her––she’s my mother. Don’t you think I’ll know my own mother?” I remembered her clearly.
Tall and slender, but with a figure—long flowing hair that hung nearly to hip length. Mom was in show business before she remarried and had worked with some of the best in the field of burlesque: Mickey Rooney, Art Carney, Johnnie Ray, and many others. She had been a ‘star’ in the forties.
The wife and I stood there smiling at each passenger as they made their way down the isle, past us, and on into the terminal. Where’s my Mama? I thought. When all of the passengers had apparently gotten off the plane, Roberta and I made our way over to the information desk.
“Would you check and see if Misses Roxie Read was on the flight when it left Los Angeles, Please?”
After a few moments… “Yes, she did board the plane, sir.”
“Did the plane make any stops?” I asked.
“Just one, Sir, a two hour stop-over at Denver.”
“Would you check and see if she was on the flight when it left Denver?”
“Yes, she was on the plane when it left Denver.”
That’s strange, I thought. Neither the wife nor I had seen her, and we were standing closer than three feet away from the entrance when the passengers deplaned. Either the airline was mistaken about her being on the plane, or Mom had jumped out somewhere between Denver and Saint Louis. I knew the airlines couldn’t be mistaken, but somehow I doubted she had jumped. So the wife and I proceeded to the car rental area where a car had been reserved in my mother’s name.
“Has Misses Read picked up her vehicle yet?” I asked.
“No. She has not.”
What now? I thought. I went to the phone booth and called my Mom’s home…NO ANSWER….
This was beginning to be a mystery. And a certain amount of terror had begun to creep in. Somehow my Mother had vanished in thin air; literally. Following my wife’s suggestion, and with nothing to lose, I proceeded over to the paging booth.
“Would you please page Misses Roxie Read, and have her to come to the information booth where her son and daughter-in-law are waiting for her?”
Just as the young man started over to pick up the microphone I heard, “Would Mister Mickey Clarke please come to the information booth? Someone is waiting for you.”
“Hey,” I hollered, “that’s me. Who’s paging me?”
“The lady standing next to you,” he replied.
I turned to see a short, heavy-set, elderly, white-haired-lady in her late seventies. Not the tall, sexy, movie star my Mother had been when I last saw her when in my early twenties.
“Gee,” I said smiling, “I didn’t recognize you, Mom. I wasn’t looking for a short-haired, lady.”
“Well,” she hesitated smiling back, “I wasn’t looking for a potbellied old man either.”