Just a Minute: Italian Mothers

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I approached my mother on Mother’s Day with a bouquet of tulips and a Dunkin’ Donuts gift card. Nothing crazy, little card, “Love ya ma,” simple.

However, as a son of an Italian mother, I knew there would be some type of problem. A problem rooted in love, but a problem nonetheless. What started as some heartfelt gift giving soon turned into a complete evaluation of my life at 27.

Was she thankful? Absolutely –the initial emotion and instinctive reaction, rooted in love, was thankfulness.

“Awh babe thank you!”

But then, the Italian crazy gets churning, thoughts start bouncing off the interior of the cranium, and the storm begins to marinate like pork butt in a Sunday sauce.

“How much were the flowers?”

“How much money are you spending?!”

“You can’t be spending like this you need to be saving I HOPE YOU’RE SAVING!”

“What’s going on with you Masters degree?”

“Are you ever going to find a woman?”

 Jesus! I almost regret giving ya the damn flowers, but I get it, however, can we tone it down for and just enjoy the day without bouncing around like a pin ball?

 Honest to God, and I’m speaking almost directly to the lovely, beautiful, insane Italian women of Troy and other Italian-American communities…when are yas gonna calm TF down?

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 Can we ever just live in the moment and not bounce to our guilt rooted past where your mother made you think going on a week vacation was an irresponsible disservice to your family? God forbid you weren’t there to wash a dish or get a plate of macs ready for your uncle for a whole week. I get the guilt that’s been instilled, but let’s let that evaporate nowadays. Everything’s cool, let’s just be cool, OK?

Yas all need to, collectively, take a deep breath, and just accept a kind gesture. Is this going to happen without a 4-year meditation retreat with Buddhists in Himalayan salt caves? Most likely not. But let’s just try for the sake of your agita.

I’ll tell you more in Just a Minute:

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