My mother's curse

On our drive home, the Boy said to me, "I had a disturbing moment in math class today."

"Well, that's why you always carry a notebook, honey, so you can hold it in front of-"

"Not...gawd....geez, Mom....."

"So, what happened?"

"The teacher was up there, yammering on about numbers and formula and writing all these symbols on the board and in my head, all I could think was, 'So, when is he going to pull out a long wavy knife to split open some kid to some dark eldritch god?" 

I laughed. "HA! That's funny! You should use that!"

"NO!  Christ..you're not getting it. Mom, it's not funny at all. It's not normal to be sitting in algebra, trying  to understand whatever the fuck that teacher is  trying to teach and all I can think is whether or not he's going to summon up the Dark Goat of a Thousand Young to suck out our eyeballs!"

"Whatever. Just know this for a fact: I'm not taking responsibility for you guys being weird. One day, you will see it as a gift. So stop being a crybaby about wanting to be normal."


The whole point of this little vignette (true story, btw) and how it ties into the title of this post is my mother had a very unusual curse. Not just the one where I always started my period before a hot date but one that I believe has had impact on me at a genetic level.


She used to say, "I hope your kids are just as weird as you!"


Too bad she didn't live long enough to see that curse come true.