Owning my weirdness

“Don’t be so proud,” I shouted at my adult son as his peers chuckled. “Put. This. On.”

I couldn’t believe my assertiveness. Here’s the backstory.

My grandson’s baseball final was on June 19. It was a cloudy, windy day, barely 15 degrees Celsius, when the game started at 9 a.m. I had worn a short-sleeved shirt, a long-sleeved sweater, and a woollen wrap for good measure. I was none too warm.

My son was one of the scorekeepers. When he came down from his perch between the first and second inning, I noticed he had no jacket. He was wearing only a thin long-sleeved shirt and his pants. He admitted he was freezing.

I offered him my wrap.

“No, Mom, you keep it,” he said.

“I may have a shawl in the car.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be fine,” he said through chattering teeth.

Sadly, the only thing in my car that would protect anyone from the wind was a torn shower curtain I’d used to line my trunk when I bought bedding plants.

“No thanks, Mom, I’m fine,” my son said as I held it out to him.

“You’re too proud,” I muttered.

I shuffled back to the stands. My mother bear instincts kicked in before I could sit down. I marched back to the scorekeeper platform, took off my wrap, and thrust it at my son. Hence the drama at the start of the story.

Back in the stands, I wrapped myself in the shower curtain. I felt toasty for the rest of the game. No doubt I looked funny, but, hey, I’m weird, so I may as well own it.

Life was imitating art. Here’s what else was going on in my life.

Starting in May, I took another set of classes in stand-up comedy. When I presented my jokes, my teacher pushed me to make them more outlandish. She also urged me to show my feelings more, own my uniqueness (okay, weirdness), and stand up to people.

Here’s a link to my showcase performance on June 23, 2021. You’ll notice that my stand-up persona is somewhat like Maxine of Hallmark greeting card fame. One of my statements is, “Grandmothers kick ass.”

Now, it seems, so does this mother.


2 thoughts on “Owning my weirdness

    1. Wilda Post author

      I had a blast. You couldn’t see my feet, but I wasn’t wearing bunny slippers. I pressed some orange strappy sandals into service.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *