Motherhood is an enigma. In spite of being an eyewitness to the phenomenon and an
alpha contributor, I don’t fully comprehend its biomechanics. Carrying a baby to term and
subsequently giving birth, changes a woman. We become endowed with predatory instincts dating back to
Cro-Magnon designed to defend the primordial mound against any assailants who
might most unwisely inflict pain or injury to said offspring.
Of course, on any given day, most mothers are luminously
transparent with the milk of human kindness, an inward radiance that haloes us
with a serene and majestic glory that is the stuff of verses in Mother’s Day
cards. Blah blah blah
However, when a mother senses danger, we morph into
carnivorous bi-peds, with disproportionate upper torsos and small, tearing
teeth perfectly engineered for ripping raw flesh. In short, we become gladiatorial.
Now I mention this for one reason only. Brodi’s most recent book received rave
reviews, primarily from her own mother, and those who were unfortunate victims
of extortion from Guido, The Thumbbreaker.
Nevertheless, one reviewer from the Deseret News, said that
they liked her second book, in spite of the “over-the-top romance.” This critic just could not believe that
teenagers were capable of such intense commitment or involvement.
Really?
REALLY???!!!
Now before I launch into a matriarchal rant, I will harness
my inner gladiator, mop up the incisor drool, sheath the claws, holster my
Second Amendment flame thrower, suppress my alterego, Cruella DeVille, and cease creating crop circles to
entrap this reviewer’s new puppy.
I pledge to smile while experiencing the grim facial
contortion of an outraged Mom, even if that smile consists mostly of pulling my
lips back from my teeth in a snarl.
Yes, I will rebut this columnist’s observation with Downton
Abbey-esque discipline, maintaining decorum and cosmic order for the common
good, and eschew language and tacky gestures that might bring shame and
dishonor upon the household.
I will not be vindictive.
All righty.
Let’s proceed.
Soooo, Brodi’s characters have an “over-the-top romance,”
huh?
Let’s just take a look and see if there are any historical
precedents of teenagers who are “over the top.”
1. 1. Cleopatra was barely 18 when she became ruler of Egypt,
disposed of her siblings who were the products of too much Ptolymeic
inbreeding, seduced Caesar, bore a son, and formed a powerful alliance with
Rome.
2. 2. Alexander The Great had conquered the world,
executed tens of thousands, ruled by tyranny and died (probably from
exhaustion) when he was barely out of his teens.
3. 3. Of course, there’s that little drama by a
playwright that this critic may not have heard of…William Freakin’
Shakespeare…called “Romeo and Juliet.”
Those two met, fell in love, married, and died within the space of about
15 minutes. You want over-the-top
romance? Talk to the Bard!
4. 4. And who could forget Snooki?
There has been a long line of visions and pre-pubescent
visionaries who have altered the course of history. I find it totally within the realm of credulity that a
character might battle the forces of the underworld to retrieve someone she
loves. It’s the stuff of legends.
Aaaah. I feel better now.
Brodi’s book launch was Tuesday night. And I can say without reservation, it
was a success.
But through the years, I have come to better understand the
subtly nuanced nature of “success.”
It is a multi-layered concept.
Rarely is a single individual solely responsible for his or her own
achievements.
We humans are some of the most cooperative and communal of
all primates. It is our very
solidarity that is our defense in this fang-filled world. We stick together.
Tuesday night, once again, it was not just about the
book. Loved ones gathered. Yes, Brodi’s book was the reason, but
not the sole purpose.
There is a phenomenon in nature known as the “alert
circle.” I love this. When a herd of animals must rest, they
form a circle. And each head of
each member is oriented in a different direction. Ergo, if there is danger, it is detected immediately, and
the one member can alert the others.
It is a survival tactic.
But it is also social.
So it was Tuesday night. There was a blending of family, friends and loved ones. We gathered to celebrate, rejoice,
laugh, and share the tenderness of our souls. Coming together is a powerful antidepressant.
Just prior to Brodi’s presentation, she, Erin and I gathered
in a brief huddle. Erin said
quietly, “I miss Dad.” As did we
all. Last year his pride in his
daughter lit the room. This year,
in a sea of beloved faces, one was missing.
But our emotions stabilized as we tunneled into the
moment. William Falkner said, “The
past is never dead. It’s not even
past.” We racked that. And Brodi was able to give her presentation.
Even in the deepest heartache, there is grace in humor. She was slightly disheveled, but that’s
part of her charm. She maintained
her authenticity, kept us all laughing, and did not allow her nerves to edge
her into oxygen debt. Staying
conscious is always the first priority.
I knew it was a success when I was able to stop double-fisting
Kleenexes. I was proud. Motherhood
is not really an enigma. I’ll take it.