Book Report

What I know about Mommie Dearest

by Susannah Clay LastNameHereButReallyIsItSuchASecret, age 36

Growing up I read Mommie Dearest as if it were a bedtime story. Hans Christian Anderson sucked, Aesop was sooo predictable and I had yet to discover Judy Blume and the wonders of Forever (*sigh*). Joan Crawford was my type of gal even if I knew in 1984 that shoulder pads were a bad idea.

In the 7th grade we were allowed to do a book report on a book of our choosing which to a word nerd such as myself was akin to giving me clear skin and the ability to talk to boys while dancing to Stairway to Heaven, all 14 glorious minutes. I chose Mommie Dearest, of course, and in the summary section I wrote something like this:

It is about mothers. About daughters. About pain and love and more pain. And wire hangers. It is about cold cream and mothers who use cold cream, and beauty and the ugly truth. It is about mothers. It is about daughters...

I think I went like that for 200 words because the summary section requirement was 200 words and then right before class I read a friend's book report on Bridge to Terabithia and her summary was much more straight-foward. Bridge to Terabithia is the story of a boy named Jess who befriends his neighbor after loosing {sic} a race at school. And then this happened and then that, the end. I remember standing outside of Mrs. Hudson's English class mortified of not only my choice of books, but of my flowery Massengill-like summary. I took my pen and I scratched away at about mothers and about daughters until I wore a hole in the paper, and then up the side of the margin I scrawled something more linear about Joan Crawford that was in no way 200 words. I turned it in like that, holes and all, then I sat down at my desk and over the course of the 50 minute class I got my period all over my chair.

I was wearing lilac colored cropped pants and a matching lilac colored plaid shirt. I remember; it was rad. Halfway through class I could feel myself leaking but I did not know what to do. So I sat there. And sat some more. The bell rang. I did not stand up. Finally Mrs. Hudson had to tell me to leave and so I just got up and left my seat all bloody. Maybe I tied a sweatshirt around my waist, I don't know, I certainly don't think I had a sweatshirt that went with my lovely lilac ensemble. I don't really remember the rest, how I got through the day, who knew, how I even got home or if I ever did. For all I know I could still be there in the hallway of Red Hill Junior High with blood all over my lilac colored cropped pants. If so, let's hope I'm not still lining the inside of my lower eyelid with aqua liner.

But that's what I know about Mommie Dearest. And motherhood. It's about mothers. About daughters. It's about pain and love and blood and cold cream if you're lucky enough not to have oily prone skin. It's about looping up and around and always back to your mother, your grandmother, your daughter, yourself, a crazy stupid silly loop of blood and tissue and stories and more, always hopefully more. In italics. (What it's not about is being straightforward.) And this time I am not going to scratch it out. It's about. Forever.

p.s. I got a C on that book report.

Happy Mother's Day!

xoxo,

Susannah