Today is Mo's Birthday and I don't like that we are so far apart. Instead of celebrating with her, I am left to review films of past parties like a drunk coach watching old game highlights in the dark: the first slumber party on Poplar Street where no one slept, the sweet sixteen with the awful band that no one could dance to, the house party on Queen St. with eight 13 year olds and Kyra's drunk Uncle Clive listening to music in our small yard, the pool party where Roni almost drowned after convincing us all she would be fine jumping off the diving board even though she could not swim. When people say about their grown children: "she will always be my little girl", I understand the feeling, but I have never felt that way about Mo. This is not to say that I would not (still) hold her on my lap or (try to) comfort her when she was sad. It is more that I have always looked as her (perhaps unfairly) as a person to learn from. She has always been adult-ish with her whiskey low voice and ease around grownups, but more than that she has made daring choices, in friends, in studies, in travels, with an amazing ease and commitment and I am often left thinking, How did you do that? Here are a few other interesting inspirationals:
She is left handed.
She can do a perfect imitation of the Greenfield lunch lady.
She can smack her lips.
She can belch for a full 30 seconds.
Children love her.
When she does not agree with you she is agressive and intimidating (and thinks that it is funny).
She touched a wild crocodile.
She is engaged to a person she knew she would marry five minutes after she met him.
She likes to exercise but will complain the entire time she is exercising.
She has crooked fingers.
Happy Birthday Mo. Wadoo. Mee-hoo.
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