Good evening. I’m Dave,
Joyce’s youngest child, and I’m going to do one of my favorite things – talk
about my mother. For about 10 minutes. First off, let me congratulate you for
being here tonight. My mother does not suffer fools. She may work for them,
serve them drinks, deal with them in customer service, and parent them on
occasion… but suffer them? No. So, good on you for making it into the room.
It’s no small accomplishment.
Look around. No one,
except Mom, knows everyone else. That is a testament to just how remarkable,
fluid, and *useful* she is. This is a person who has never stopped growing or
adding value as a friend, parent, sibling, coworker or neighbor. There is always
something more to do, a way to be better, think differently, consider something
new. This is what we all get for knowing Joyce. The knowledge that more is
possible, more is desirable, and you deserve it. Because you know her, and
because you can be like her.
Every child thinks their
mom is special, but I have proof. Every time I had a serious relationship that
ended… the woman who was leaving asked about my mom. Some still do – decades
later. I may or may not have been a good boyfriend, fiancĂ©, or husband… but man
alive, did they ever want to keep the mom. That’s because everyone wants more
of her in their life. Who among us can say the same?
Why is my mother this way?
I have theories. First, that she took exactly what she needed from her parents.
Can you tell a story, never settle, and be completely comfortable in your own
skin? That’s her father. Can you listen, put your own needs on hold, and make
the ones you love know that you care and are rooting for them? That’s her
mother. Can you keep moving forward and avoid apologies, complaints, or excuses
while keeping what’s really important in focus? That’s my mom. And my role
model.
Being a role model can
take many forms. One of the more infamous stories of my childhood is sharing a
bed with my brother as a small child, and wetting the bed… right into his ear.
Which led my brother to, quite understandably, to react with profanity unbecoming
of a 12-year-old, leading my mother to investigate… and then fall down
laughing when she got the story. Now, think about what she *could* have
done. She could have punished my brother, or me, or both of us. She could have
taken it out on the entire family for costing her sleep at a time when she
probably wasn’t getting any. She could have been consumed with worry about
either of us and escalated it. None of that worked as well as laughter.
She made a great choice. She usually does.
Something else you should
know about my mom – she lets me get away with a lot, including making
everything about her right now, because I’m the youngest. And when I was a
little kid, we lived in the suburbs with a backyard, which meant we had a place
where pets could happen. Whether the pets were random dogs from my
grandfather’s job sites, turtles repatriated from the woods, a sado-masochistic
rabbit – there were pets. Also, for a summer, a duck that thought it was a
rooster. If you want to know how all of these things found themselves in a
rented backyard, ask Joyce.
Here’s the point: all of
the pets were healthy and well fed. In a house with three kids, with a garden.
We had clean dishes without a dishwasher, meals without a microwave, with
school lunches packed and laundry done, all from a single parent that worked
until the bars closed and beyond. If you are wondering how that happened… you
aren’t alone. It happened because she made it happen.
Do a small thought
exercise for me. Imagine that every part of you – your physical realities and
mental abilities, where you fell in the demographic and gender spectrum, what
parts of you work the way they should or how you want them to, etc. – was something
you had to pay for in a yearly subscription. How much would you pay to keep
what you have? How much would you pay to get an upgrade?
The reason I ask: we are
all of us, every one of us who is above the ground, privileged. We live lives
with the comforts of kings, with astounding technology in our literal pockets.
We live so much longer than we used to. We don’t appreciate it. We are
all, actually, privileged. Especially everyone here tonight, because we all
know my mom. The best of us share the fruits of our privilege. My mother shares
her remarkable work ethic, her standards of living, her attention to detail.
She doesn’t make you feel like you owe her, because it’s not about her
sacrifice. It’s about her refusal to live without excellence, and her
insistence on sharing and providing..
What else did she share
and provide? Vacations. Cars. Sports equipment. Books. Fine meals, at home and
out. Cable television and home computers and stereo systems and concert tickets
and… seriously, Mom, how?
What she has shared didn’t
*always* work out. There was the drive back to school in a rented car that we
thought would be safer to drive in bad conditions. Nope. Mom and I spun about
three full rotations on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, each of us telling the other
that it was going to be fine just fine until we finally came to rest on the
guardrail, miraculously without serious damage to our car or anyone else… and
then just drove the rest of the way. Hours more, in the same storm and black
ice. Because, well, we had to.
My mom does what she has
to do, and the only person in the world who can tell her what she has to do is…
her. You can convince her of a lot in this world, and she has a remarkably open
mind, but once a decision is made and there is work to be done, work will be
done. And if there is a task that has to be done, and my mother is involved, it
gets done. If there’s Joyce, a task, and a wall, it’s a really bad day to be
the wall.
About college – my mom
didn’t make me go. What she made me do was listen to her when she told me that
she didn’t care what I did for a living, so long as I loved it. I loved writing
about sports, money be damned. Mom supported that every step of the way, buying
groceries and providing transportation, excusing my absences during summers and
holidays while I focused on the task, and supporting me as I mailed hundreds of
letters, begging for a sports writing job, during a recession. When that failed
and I had loans to pay, Mom didn’t make me feel bad about my “wasted” degrees.
So, I worked as a temp and made music, and discovered that I loved making music
more than writing about sports. Mom showed up at more of those gigs than some
of my band mates. Never a word about wasting my life, talents, etc. Same thing
through a number of jobs at startups. Never a moment of judgment. Never a word
about how I should have gotten a business degree instead or gone back for my
masters.
In short, my mother trusts
her children to do what’s right for their own lives. She raised grownups. God
bless her. There aren’t enough of us around.
One more story. Over 15
years ago, some of her co-workers asked her to join a fantasy football league.
Mom had never done any nerd betting before – she focused on the real stuff,
which is to say picking teams against the spread – but she went along with them.
Then gave me a call to be her co-owner. We crushed the league, so much so that
when we got to the championship game, the guy we were playing against asked for
a chop before the game. It wasn’t my money, so not my call – but Mom? Flat no.
Couldn’t have been prouder. (And yeah, our guys got hurt and we lost. It
happens.) Mom pursues excellence. She does not settle for less. Takes her shot,
doesn’t whine if it doesn’t go her way. Grown up. Mom later joined my fantasy
football league and has her own team. She’s also won it. I haven’t. I tell that
to people all the time, because why not brag about my mom?
So, in summation, please
join me in raising a glass to one of the best people that any of us will ever
know on this, a round number. There will be many, many more, because the world
does not want less of her, and she does not want less of it. If, for no other
reason, than to keep kicking my ass in fantasy football.
To Joyce!