Laughing With Di

My mom, Sophie, was of Polish descent. She had little formal education but became street-smart at an early age. She was the youngest of four brothers and three sisters. She was her father’s favorite. During the Depression he would always find a way to buy her silk stockings so she could go dancing. She loved to dance. Even though she was the youngest, Sophie was a “baska” (boss lady) at work and with her family. And she wore a babushka (scarf).
Let’s have a sweet laugh with Sophie for Mother’s Day.
I always remember her working. Often, she would bring my sister and me to the factory where they manufactured coffee pots. We were these kids on an assembly line putting coffee pot parts (say that three times) coming down a conveyor belt, into boxes. I learned the value of concentration, dexterity, speed and maybe, fear. At least we never pulled a “Lucy” and let these coffee pot parts fly off the handle (handles were actually “parts”!).
We lived on what we called a dead-end street. Maybe in today’s lingo I could call it a cul-de-sac to raise its desirability as a location where someone might want to live (not). It was one street past what was considered “safe”. Once, Sophie sent a boy “friend” of mine to walk me home from a dance at the “Y”. I wouldn’t believe him because she said he was not to be trusted and I told him to get lost. (Go figure). I guess she trusted him to protect me? Our house was a neighborhood hang-out and all of my friends liked my mom. She could be intimidating but my clever friends learned she would cave for a banana.
Sophie always had my back. When my dad said “no” to something I wanted to do, she would win the battle for me. She was strict but had a little “devil” in her and believed in bending rules. She attended a high school parent-teacher conference with Sister Mary Joseph (groan). I thought I was doomed. So did Sister Mary Joseph. One of my lesser talents was sewing. Don’t do it to this day. Sister showed my mother swatches of stitches (say that three times) done sloppily, and said, “This is your daughter’s work.” My mother, bless her heart, said, “Oh, how nice!”
Then overnight she became “grandma”. That transition made her newly vulnerable to teasing and kidding as her children and grandchildren got older and bolder. She always took our teasing good-naturedly but sometimes she didn’t get the joke. After I got married, my family was about fifty miles away from her. She would spend time with us and would tell everyone she met that she was visiting from Chicago, as if it was another country.
She was funny and said funny things. Here is my favorite Sophieism:
“Those actors and actresses change partners like you rip off a Bounty!”
I have now made that same transition to “grandma” with all the benefits, teasing and kidding! I may actually be turning into Sophie…but I do not wear a babushka.