I can’t believe that my mother is going to become a professional skateboarder. I asked her repeatedly over Skype “mom why are you doing this?” and all she would reply was: “Ain’t your beeswax, honeybuns. I’m eating muffins with hot sauce.”  But this shouldn’t surprise me. She’s always been a rebel.

When she was sixteen, she boned my dad, a married rabbi, on the top floor of the Swiss Army Knife factory. And have I mentioned how impressive her areola implants are?

In a recent email she wrote, “My crotch smells like rotting cabbage from having sex with Elian Gonzalez. He’s still not 18 so we did it on a raft off the coast of Miami. …. Some prick filmed it and I sued him for royalties. Maybe I’ll be able to buy you something nice like a Desert Eagle handgun.”

And today she texted me: How is that Greyhound bus-driving job going, son? And when you gonna make me a goddamned grandchild?”

I love my mom dearly, but I’m worried. I’ve always felt like I’ve had to be the responsible one in the family. I’m the one who talked her out of drinking a dead man’s diarrhea. I’m the one who had to negotiate the hostage situation with her at the Vatican. I’m the one who always has to remind her that it’s tax season and that she should schedule an appointment with H&R Block.

But, she is the one who gave birth to me in a Taco Bell men’s bathroom, and for that gift of life I must always love her unconditionally.

Whether she fails at being the first 64 year old woman to do a 720 back flip over a cesspool on a skateboard or not, I’m going to love her, because she’s my Mom!

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