I love my Mom.
She gave me a second life and when I visit she always makes me feel at home. She looks after me and keeps giving me lush food at supper.
She does her best to help me get on with Dad and understand him – there are times when it’s not that easy. She never fails to put in a good word for me with him when necessary – and I am sure that it is the case more often than I imagine.
She expressly forgives me when I trip or trip others and urges me not to go astray again, knock on wood.
She has introduced me to some outstanding family members, both dead and alive (although she tells me that I should look up to Dad and do as he does – focus on the living only), who are among the most fascinating men and women in humankind's history.
She expressly forgives me when I trip or trip others and urges me not to go astray again, knock on wood.
She has introduced me to some outstanding family members, both dead and alive (although she tells me that I should look up to Dad and do as he does – focus on the living only), who are among the most fascinating men and women in humankind's history.
So I don't make a big fuss when she baffles me at times and gets – over minor points - on my nerves.
Even if she gets something wrong, I still love her, because she does so much for me. And after all, she’s only half-human.
Even if she gets something wrong, I still love her, because she does so much for me. And after all, she’s only half-human.
PS I must finish this religious session now. Otherwise, I fear, I may burst with a Psalm on my lips*. Next up: something on Country music.
*which might be interesting. I can picture somebody in Heaven calling St Peter: “Sir, we have a difficult case here. He’s turned up at the Gate with a handful of good deeds (mainly in the PR department) and a trainload of ugly shit. But he did do one impressive number: he burst with a Psalm on his lips. What do we do?”
**but Dad's gonna cut me down
