Are You My Mother?

“Let's get started,” the banker said as Spencer and I settled into chairs in front of the desk in his plush office. “Are you Spencer’s Mom?” he smiled.  

“Yes.. . No. . .I mean . . .”

The banker peered at me over reading glasses that threatened to slip from the end of his nose.  His puzzled expression and raised eyebrows suggested he thought I might be a brick shy of a full load. How could a woman not know if she is somebody’s mother? 


My plan was to demonstrate fiscal responsibility and mature behavior by accompanying Spencer to the bank to open his first checking account before he left for college. I probably should have explained to the banker that I am Spencer’s “double-mom” since he is my “double-son,” a grandson by birth and a son by adoption. But that raises more questions than it answers. Besides, there comes a day when you don’t want to have to begin a sentence, “When Spencer’s Mom died . . .” The story is much too long, too complicated, too personal to share with strangers. I couldn’t blame the banker for not understanding.  Sometimes, even we get confused.   

“Uh...Let’s move on,” the banker said, shuffling papers in front of him. “I’ll need to attach security questions to the account,” he explained. “What’s your mother’s date of birth?” he asked Spencer, apparently thinking it best to direct questions away from me.         

I decided it would be less confusing if I responded to future inquiries from the banker as Spencer’s grandmother, rather than his mother. Wanting to redeem myself, I chimed in, “January,” giving Tara's birth month. Spencer simultaneously responded, “March.”  It was one time I wished he hadn’t remembered my birthday. 

The banker rolled his eyes.  After a pause he ventured, “Perhaps a different question might work better. What is your mother’s maiden name?”

Spencer, realizing I had responded with Tara’s information, adjusted his reply to mine.  “Cox,” he answered, stating her maiden name. I adjusted my response to his, “Rice,” I said, giving mine.  Again we replied in unison.

“People!” said the banker, clearly exasperated, “I have to get some answers to these questions, or I’m not going to be able to open this account! Do you think we might be able to find one we can all agree on!?”

 “Look,” I said to Spencer. “Just tell the man I’m your mother, OK?  But remember what we said in case anyone ever asks you again.”

Judging by the speed in which we were ushered from the banker’s office, I think he opened the account merely to get rid of us.

I can’t blame the poor man for being a bit bumfuzzled. Afterall, it’s not every family who has a double-son; a Brunkle, as Spencer calls his uncle Nevin now that he is his brother-by-law; or a Sant, now that Brynnan is an aunt-turned-big-sister. I have to smile. If our family relationships are perplexing to the banker, and occasionally to us, just think what we’ve done to the genealogists.  

Reflections:

“All you need in this world is love and laughter. That’s all anybody needs.  Love in one hand. Laughter in the other.”~August Wilson

“A joyful heart is good medicine.”~Proverbs 17:22

"Peace begins with a smile."~Mother Teresa


“Son, you outgrew my lap, but never my heart.”~Anonymous


Practice:


Smile at least once today.  If possible, laugh.