Kick-off was schedule for shortly after noon, an old-school time for an old-school rivalry. I did not know how I was going to pull it off- be with Big Mama enough to make her happy and be still be able to watch the Wolverines beat the Buckeyes.
It has been seven long record-breaking years that the Bucks have kicked the crap out of the Boys from Ann Arbor, but after that sordid little scandal about mementoes and free tattoos for the athletes, this could have been the biggest chance in almost a decade.
I mean, remember when free ink and some used jerseys were a big deal? We did not know about real horror stories then, like what that predatory monster Sandusky was doing in the locker room at Penn State.
I had a separate plan for the afternoon, and I thought I could pull it off. I got over to Potemkin Village well before lunch. Big Mama was reading her book about movie actor James Garner.
“He fits right in with us,” she said brightly. “He was from Oklahoma. I missed you.”
She put the book down on the coffee table with her glasses and we sat and talked about things. Inevitably, we got back to he current issue she worries about a lot- The Plan, and how the family was going to work through all this improbable activity. “I can’t believe how all this happened,” she said for the second time this morning. She makes that statement a lot.
“I completely agree, Mom. No one would have thought it work out this way, but it did.” She gave a smile in return for my assurance, and we went back to looking at the genealogy of her family in the thick white binder from the rack of thick white binders on the shelf in the living room of her apartment.
“I missed you,” she said. I had to sit at two meals without you. I think I might have been sitting with some doctors at lunch. They said some things that might have been medical. I don’t know.”
“Mom, you went to breakfast. I was with you at dinner last night.” She looked puzzled. “It was breakfast,” I said, “and I never come for breakfast.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “But there were no eggs. Only raison bran. You mean it is night already?”
“No, Mom,” I said brightly. “It is almost 11:30 in the morning, and we are going to lunch soon.”
“I should have shoes, then.”
“Sound plan, Mom.”
“You know, one of these days we are going to have to write all this down,” she declared.
“You already did, Mom.” I waved at the bookcase. “You wrote all of those. You were legendary for it.”
“I was? I don’t remember,” she said with a note of wonder.
“Let’s go down to lunch, Mom. It is part of The Plan.”
Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com