Happy Birthday Mom!

My 5th grade teacher was a certain Mr. Seidman, who for reasons unknown was obsessed with songs about whaling (a period of 19th century folk music history concerning men on boats, hunting whales.) When it came to my mother’s attention that I had been coming home from school stuttering and that my penmanship was getting smaller and smaller – especially, my signature - she felt it would be a good idea to discuss the situation with Mr. Seidman.

She called the school and left a message in the office requesting that Mr. Seidman call her at his earliest convenience. He called that evening. The conversation began with my mother politely explaining to him that I seemed to be feeling anxious about school - describing the handwriting and stammering issues. What happened next is hard to recount, as I was not only not on the phone, but also, in fact, not even in the room.

Nonetheless, as the story goes, apparently the teacher made the mistake of criticizing me in various ways – using words like lazy, and undisciplined. The next thing I heard was the sound of my mother’s voice shrieking in a deafening pitch into the telephone handset, “YOU BASTARD, YOU DIRTY BASTARD! I’LL RIP YOUR BEARD OUT OF YOUR FACE!” Mr. Seidman had a beard.

By the time Brad and I had rushed into the kitchen to see what was happening, my father had lifted a chair up into the air and was threatening to crash it down upon my mother’s head if she didn’t immediately hand him the phone, which she did.

Happy Birthday Mom, and thanks for sticking up for me!