Adam Chester - SMother

Editor: David Cashion
Designer: Topos Graphics
Production Manager: Alison Gervais

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Chester, Adam.
Smother : the story of a man, his mom, and the thousands of altogether
insane letters shes mailed him / Adam Chester.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-8109-9645-8 (alk. paper)
1. Mothers and sonsUnited StatesCorrespondenceHumor. 2. Adult
childrenFamily relationshipsUnited StatesHumor. I. Title.
HQ755.86.C44 2011
306.8743092dc22

2010032491

ISBN 978-0-8109-9645-8

Copyright 2011 Adam Chester

Published in 2011 by Abrams Image, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

Printed and bound in USA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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This book is dedicated to everyone who has
a mother, who knows a mother, who is a mother,
who will be a mother, or just likes to say the
word Mother.

.

That cat Joan is a baaaaad mother
(Shut your mouth!)
But Im talkin about Adams Mom.

Theme from Shaft, Variation #1

God came to me last night and told me your purpose for
being here. I am going to help you write a new book.

Annie Wilkes in Stephen Kings Misery

Mothers. They are known by many names: Mama, Ma, Mommy, Mumzy, Mamasita, or, that old standard in my house when I was growing up, The most whacked-out woman Ive ever been humbled to claim as my very own relative who has single-handedly tried to jeopardize any and every relationship Ive ever had. Aaaaah. Just writing that makes me feel better. Youve heard that old adage You cant live with em...? Well amen to that, brother. Its also my firm belief that mothers should provide immediate family members with ample warning beFORE just popping by for a few minutes, or face serious consequences.

I know. Youre thinking Ive got issues. Fact is, when my wife and I moved into our house, it was my WIFE who didnt want to give my mother our new address. And for a while, it was peaceful. I was freefree, I tell you! No, Im not being cruel, trust me. I should say this now, so we all feel better about each other: I eventually caved and told my mother where we lived, OK? Something about her wanting to see her grandkids... I dont know. (I think shes just using them as a ruse to keep tabs on my life, but my shrink says that might be a tad extreme.) Although I do love and care about her (as most sons who have been humiliated by their mothers most every day of their lives would), Ive got PLENTY of reasons why I keep my distance. Most of which I tossed into a large box I hid in the corner of my garage for close to thirty years of my life. (Youll know more about that soon enough.) What it all boils down to is the simple fact that my mother is insane. Not dangerously insane, Ill grant you, but nonetheless completely bats.

Throughout my entire life, my friends would say, Come on, Adam. Your moms not nuts. Shes just your typical overprotective Jewish mother. But I knew the truth. I knew there must have been some medical term for her, and I realized we had some serious boundary issues that had nothing to do with our proximity.

When I think about all the incidents involving her that I managed to live through... I remember (insert heavenly harp arpeggio here) all the way back to...

My first year of junior high school in Miami Beach. It was a typical hot and humid school day. I remember it like it was yesterday because I relive this day almost everyday of my life. I had a lot of friends. I also had a crush on a beautiful girl in my seventh-grade class; my first crush. Her name was Sara. She was everything a thirteen-year-old boy could want in a girl: She was pretty, she was popular, and she was a girl.

There I was, getting dressed with all my seventh-grade pals in the boys locker room, as Phys Ed was just over. We were all joking around and laughing about stuff when suddenly I could hear that voice coming toward me from the distance. Adam... ? Adam... ? Could it be? No. Why would she be at school in the middle of the day? I tried to rationalize this as my heart started beating really fast. The voice was drawing closer... Aaaaadaaaammmmm? No doubt about it now. It was her. All the guys were panicking to get dressed in time. (In time for what?) The room became a blur as everyone was moving fast to at least cover up. But it was too late because she was...

I could see that my mother was carrying something as she stepped into the boys locker room. No. (Yes.) No. (Why?) It was my sweater. And I remember at that moment she looked completely at peace with what she was about to do. As I lifted my slightly watery gaze to look past her, I could see she was not alone. She was shadowed closely by our school coach (who didnt know what the hell was going on), who was followed by Sara, who was followed by anyone and everyone who had ever lived in South Florida during the 1970s. The room settled down for one final peaceful moment as my mother stepped into the spotlight, clutched what looked to me like a bullhorn, and proclaimed, You forgot to bring your sweater. Its going to rain today!

Those were the last words I heard as the room went black.

Seriously, dont feel bad. I came home that day and retreated to my bedroom, where I shut the door, stared at the various Elton John posters covering my wall, and fell asleep listening to Someone Saved My Life Tonight. In the end, the whole experience made for a great icebreaker with classmates, co-workers, prospective dates, and psychologists. Where was my father during all of this? When I was eight years old, he lost his three-year battle with pancreatic cancer at the age of forty-three. Being the only child, I had to assume his place as the man of the house. My mom thought itd be a good idea for us to move closer to her folks in Florida. Thus, my education from the fourth grade through high school took place in Miami Beach.

My mother never wanted to be a single mom, but like so many other women, she was thrust into that situation at a very young age. And in my humble opinion, I think my mother did a great job raising me. She may not have always behaved rationally, but she was there for me. All the time. Everywhere. 24/7. Without fail. Alienating most every other human being Id ever seen her encounter. In fact, if those Christmas carolers are reading this right now, please accept my sincerest apologies on her behalf. I really thought you sang quite beautifully. You remember. Back in Princeton, New Jersey, on a snowy Christmas morning... I was only seven years old, and Id been up all night with a flu and fever, and well, you understand. I guess you just picked the wrong apartment doorstep to stand on. I remember you all running like hell from my mother when she chased you down the block with a long broomstick, convinced you were disturbing my sleep. You guys were good.