Tip It! (14 page)

Not that I wanted a cell phone, either, when you started seeing everyone talking into one on the street. But even I had to admit they’re good to have for emergency purposes. I have a nice little cell phone myself now, although I still don’t know how to use the camera part. [
Or the phone part. She screams into that damn cell phone like she’s mad at it. If you see her in a coffee shop, run
.] And honestly, I don’t want to learn how to take a picture with it. Yet, what would I do if I saw Bill O’Reilly on the street? Oh geez.

Now, though, it’s all about this texting, and tweetering. [
It’s called twatting, Mom
.] My daughter Joyce, who’s a wonderful teacher, said to me once, “It was hard enough to teach kids proper English and spelling when they
didn’t
have texting.
Now
what is it going to be like?” [
Not to mention the semiautomatic weapons and the sexting and the cyberbullying
.] Kids aren’t doing what I’m doing, which is consulting a dictionary every time I send an e-mail. [
She’s describing spell-checking. She just doesn’t know it. There’s another computer setting she also does in real life. It’s called “sleep.” And she’s up to about sixteen hours a day
.] There I am wondering, “Is that two ‘r’s?” while everyone else is writing “r u gng 2 lol” or whatever it is they abbreviate. It’s got to hurt the spelling cause.

But Kathy and the rest of my kids have pulled me into the twenty-first century. When I first moved out to Los Angeles, whenever I’d see something in the
Los Angeles Times
that referred to Chicago, I would cut out the article and mail it to someone back in Chicago, who’d maybe copy it and give it to family members. [
What she really did was compulsively clip articles from any and every periodical about anything slightly Chicago-related, and the occasional Dear Abby column, and mail them to me. Oh, and by the way, Mom, stop with the articles about beloved family dogs dying a slow and horrible death. To this day, she’ll send me a clipping from some old lady magazine titled something like “Saying Good-bye to Buster,” with her handwriting in the margins, “Does this sound like your dog or what?” Eww!! No!!
] But when we got a computer, Joyce had to say to me, “Ma, don’t bother with the clippings. They can get the article on the Internet. Just e-mail them where it is, then they can call you and say, ‘Oh, I read that article.’ ” That certainly saved a lot of postage. [
By the by, nothing pisses off old people more than stamps going up a penny.
] Of course, I don’t really like reading newspapers on the computer. My eyes aren’t that good.

I may have started out leery, but you can probably tell where this is going. Whaddaya know, like everything else, I got to using that computer, e-mail and everything, and now I’m pretty decent at it. [
If you consider calling the computer “a yellow pages that moves” getting pretty decent at it
.] But I have to say, what’s this obsession with getting new computers when the one you have works just fine? [
She’s got me there. I never really got over my Sharp Wizard
.] The kids wanted me to get a brand-new computer recently, because every time any of them was over here, they’d go nuts using the e-mail because it was so slow. “Well, it’s fine for me,” I’d say. “I’m not going anywhere anyway!” [
Why does that make it okay to wait AN HOUR
for an e-mail to send?
]

Then Kathy got me a new one, and of course I love it. So much for “use it up, wear it out, make it do.” Although when it heats up, I swear it’s going to burst into flames. Do you think it will? I’m telling you, I’m afraid of these things. Are they really supposed to get that hot? It’s like a radiator sometimes. [
Why don’t you dry your laundry on it?
]

I guess the true indication of how much I’ve changed is that I’m even—gulp—sending
e-mail cards
now. I swear, sometimes I think I’m getting to be a bad person! What’s happening to me? [
Okay, this is embarrassing. I don’t know how to send an e-mail card. Touché, Mom
.]

Old-School Discipline

Sometimes, though, you have to look at what’s always been accepted and maybe make some change yourself. Especially if it’s about taking care of your kid.

My kids all went to Catholic grammar school. Three of them even went to Catholic high school (not Kathy, who insisted on public school) [
Thank you, Jesus
], and two went to Catholic colleges all the way through. And the one thing that Catholic schools did was instill manners and discipline in you. Those are two things all kids need, believe me. Parents need all the help we can get where discipline is concerned. I was happy with the Catholic schools. But what those schools typically meant was, you never blamed a nun or a priest for anything. And you certainly never went home and told your parents if you thought you were getting a bad shake, because they’d just say, “You’re supposed to do what you’re told, so behave yourselves.” My dad wouldn’t even listen to us if we griped about what went on at school. You might just get in more trouble if you did!

But what’s most important, I came to realize, is sticking up for your kids when they’re right, and once, I did have occasion to talk to a nun about Kathy. This was when she was in sixth grade, maybe seventh. A mother of one of her classmates called me one day and said, “Marge, I want to tell you something, and I think you should do something about it. It’s about Kathy.”

This surprised me. Kathy? My skinny, happy, curly-haired little cutie? See, I’d never had a single phone call about Kathy all through school so far. She was a wonderful kid. Really. As I always say, I’ve had more trouble with her as an adult than as a kid. [
It’s called being a late bloomer
.]

Anyway, this mother said her daughter had come home from school and told her that if this one nun didn’t stop picking on Kathy, she was going to stand up and really tell off that nun. “I’m gonna really tell her,” this child was telling her mom. “I’m gonna say, ‘Leave Kathy alone! All you do is pick on her!’ ”

I knew nothing about any of this. But apparently, it was bad enough that this nun would have Kathy crying and everything! Well, once I’d heard this from the mother and her daughter, I decided I had to call the nun that night. I gave it a lot of thought. It hurt me so much, I had to call. But boy, did it weigh on me. A whole lifetime of believing that you didn’t talk back to teachers, nuns, priests, neighbors, or anyone in authority was rearing its head. But then there was the thought of Kathy, never even telling me what she’d been going through. That was what hurt so much.

I picked up the phone and called her. I tell ya, my whole body was shaking. And I was a grown woman in her fifties! I didn’t scream. I didn’t yell. But I wanted to know what this was all about.

“Does Kathy do anything to cause it? Not do her homework, maybe? Because she’s doing it here at home every night.”

“No.”

“Is she bad? Does she sass you?”

“No.”

This sister had no excuse, and she barely tried to defend herself. She was just apparently one of those nuns who, if they can bully you, they will. There are people like that. That just makes me furious. Well, I told this nun in no uncertain terms, “You are a disgrace to the sisterhood. You should never have been a nun, and if this doesn’t stop, I’m going much higher than this.”

How could you let a nun bully this cute little girl?

When I hung up the phone, I was still trembling. My hands were just quivering. I was ready to cry. Nowadays it seems like all parents do is blame teachers for whatever’s going wrong with their kids, but what I did with that phone call then was going against my own personality, against everything I’d been taught. I just thought, you can’t treat my Kathy like that, or any of my kids. That’s the bottom line. It was so unfair, what this woman did.

Later, I asked Kathy about it. “How’s Sister so-and-so treating you?”

“She’s okay” was all I got.

She never complained about it, which I find very odd. I often wonder if what happened with that nun maybe traumatized her a little bit. But at least I found out from other kids that the nun never said one more word to Kathy. In the end, I must say I was so pleased with myself. I felt like a good mom! It also let me know that in certain situations, questioning authority doesn’t have to be a bad thing. In that instance, I changed for the better.

[
P.S. I can now reveal the nun’s name. Sister Mary Elizabeth Oprah Winfrey. Thanks, Mom!
]

There are certain places on this planet that should be avoided at all costs, especially after ten o’clock. If you ever visit one of these Bermuda Triangles of everyday life and something happens to you, prepare to be lost until they broadcast the discovery of your lifeless body on the news, most likely with your underpants showing. These are places I’ve always warned my children about; now, I can warn you, too, readers.

Any wooded area

The car of a stranger or someone you just met

Beaches, lakes, swamps, basically any body of water, including the public pool

Parks, parking lots, and parketerias

That fancy new mall everyone is talking about

Any and all parties or rock-and-roll concerts

Fraternities and sororities, no thank you!

Your “friend’s” house

M
y youngest son, John Maurice, was the kind of likable, sweet kid who threw himself heart and soul into whatever he was into, and it was adorable. His ability to fixate on things came as a blessing one time when he was really young and got a jelly bean stuck way up his nose. He was all panicky, naturally, and I called the local police because they were really friendly and helpful about that kind of thing. They wanted to drive him to the station and see if one of the firemen—whose station was right next door to the policemen’s—could get it out. Well, all the trauma went away as soon as JM noticed the machine gun in the cop car. You’d have thought nothing else happened that day after we got back home.

“Ma, did you see that machine gun? It was so big!”

I thought that was pretty cute.

Like his roller-skating, which he started up in grammar school at St. Bernardine’s and got completely wrapped up in. All the kids loved it, really. JM would go to the rink all the time. Then he decided he was going to operate his own rink in our basement.

My youngest son, John Maurice, looking happy at the beach in Saugatuck.

Our basement had a concrete floor, and it was pretty large, which meant kids could skate around in that space easily. Then we gave him a little record player so he could play music. Well, pretty soon, when his love of roller-skating was in full swing, he started making signs to put up, as if he were running his own roller-skating operation!

He made a sign that said
ALL SKATE
and he’d have it up, even if there was nobody else around but him! Then he’d skate around—he was really good at it—and maybe after that he’d announce, “Okay, now, couples only!” And then he’d have a
COUPLES ONLY
sign ready to go.

It was so funny and sweet to hear from above. He’d really get into it.

“I said couples only, Jimmy!” we’d hear him yell out. “You can’t skate alone!”

And this might have been when nobody else was down there! Kids and their imaginations. Sometimes John Maurice had friends over, of course, but a lot of times it was just JM himself, master of his very own roller rink. He took that commitment to whatever he did—sports, hobbies, school, then business—and always wanted to be the best at whatever he was doing. Now he’s married, to a wonderful woman named Jennifer, and has two great children, my grandkids Claire and John.

I hope he doesn’t think that story was too embarrassing. But he was so adorable! This is the stuff you love to remember about your kids.

I love moving pictures. I’ve been going to “the show”—as I called it then—ever since I was a little kid when our little neighborhood theater ran cowboy movies [
now commonly known as gay porn
], comedies, and harmless family movies every Saturday and Sunday. Whether it was John Wayne riding his horse, Bing Crosby crooning a tune, Bette Davis not taking some sleazebucket’s guff [
I hate when my mom swears, sorry, everybody
], or Judy Garland looking all adorable, movies and movie stars gave me a lot of pleasure. As I got older and movies changed, I went along with some of the changes. You start out shocked, and then you get a little used to it, and then something else comes along to shock you. [
Like Gwyneth Paltrow’s career before that weird goop Web site
.] But movies have changed in other ways, too, besides the fact that nothing seems sacred anymore. Here’s how I’d fix the movie industry, if anybody bothered to listen [
and why wouldn’t they
] to one of its oldest, most steadfast supporters.

NO MORE BLOCKBUSTERS
—I hate most of these blockbusters, movies about dinosaurs and space and the end of the world. What would I care for that? [
Yeah James Cameron, you pathetic failure.
]

Lana Turner, a favorite, who made movies when they were better.

QUIT IT WITH THE UNREAL CASTING
—Now, I
love
indie movies because they’re real, and they’re true. You might see a couple of pretty girls, but at least they’re not being cast as grandmothers. In Hollywood, a movie about a family might have the gorgeous little teen, an adorable-looking mother [
or in Bristol Palin’s case, an adorable-looking teen mother
], and a grandma who looks thirty-five or forty and is still damn good-looking. Probably played by that attractive Heather Locklear. It’s so unreal how beautiful everyone is! That’s why I like English movies. Mothers look like mothers, and grandmas look like grandmas. Sometimes the lead isn’t even pretty! [
Ouch, sorry, Brenda Blethyn. I guess that BAFTA award looks a little dull now.
]

ONLY ANNETTE BENING CAN DO NUDITY
—Have you ever noticed nine out of ten nude scenes are always women? Of course. What else is new? Not that I even want to see the guy full-frontal. I am not interested. [
Especially in that sticky, stinky Ewan McGregor, who smells all European probly
.] But there was a great movie from about twenty years ago called
The Grifters,
which had one scene with Annette Bening where she comes out and wow! How she ever did that scene I’ll never know. Now, I didn’t know who she was then, but she looked gorgeous. I thought she would have come out with a towel on, but I guess that’s what brings people in. It wouldn’t draw me to a movie. But she was so good in that, I couldn’t really take offense at it. [
Someone’s getting a gift basket from Annette Bening!
]

HOLLYWOOD MEN NEED A SHOWER
—I know everybody has to be a sex symbol now, especially the girls. But the guys all look like bums, like they’ve never washed their hair, or shaved, or cleaned and pressed any of their clothes. I can’t get involved with any of them. [
Quit calling her, Matthew McConaughey. She will not take your phone calls.
]

. . . AND KEEP THE MEN AWAY IF THEY’RE TOO HANDSOME
—I don’t like a guy who loves attention from the girls, but isn’t nice to the girl he’s with. Good-looking guys to me are so in love with themselves; I’ve never been attracted to them. Robert Redford? Good-looking. Not interested. See, my idea of a guy is Robert Young. He looked so sweet and cute and nice. I loved that when he smiled, he got crinkles around his eyes. He was married to the same woman for a long time, too, which always influences me. When I was a young girl—when he was making movies, before his TV days on
Father Knows Best
and
Marcus Welby, M.D.
—Robert Young was the kind of guy I wanted to marry, and the kind of guy I wanted for my youngest daughter. I even said that once out loud to an audience of a panel show about dating that Kathy was participating in. I stood up and said to the host, “I really would love for Kathy to meet and marry a guy like Robert Young.” [
I’ve heard this my whole life. Can a dead person take out a restraining order? My mother is stalking
Robert Young’s dead body
.] Well, that comment went over like a lead balloon, of course, because every girl in that room was probably into scrungy musicians. [
Note to Eddie Vedder: my mother has renamed the grunge movement the scrungy movement
.]

BELA LUGOSI: 1, TWILIGHT
MOVIES: 0
—I don’t even know what’s going on with those
Twilight
movies. I have no desire to see them. But they’re not my kind of movies anyway. I have an aversion to scary movies, ever since I saw
Dracula
as a kid. Besides, you can’t beat Bela Lugosi. How could you? [
So you’re Team Bela, Mom
?]

BETTER WRITING
—Writers don’t get the credit they should in Hollywood. I don’t care how good an actor you are—and that goes for fancy award winners [
Kathy Griffin, multi-Emmy winner
] and pretty young things all the guys drool over [
Kathy Griffin, Grammy nominee
]—you can’t make a good scene out of bad writing. Directors are important, sure, but get a writer who can write, and you get a good movie. Although that Meryl Streep can do anything. [
Amen.
]

LESS TOILET HUMOR
—[
Uh-oh
.] It’s not funny. A little of it goes a long way. What happened to satiric comedy that took you a second to get the joke? [
Yawn
.] Something that makes you go, “Oh!” and with a smile. Instead of “Disgusting! Let’s leave.” [
The phrase I hear from an audience member if I’ve done my job.
] Really, comedy doesn’t always have to be ya-ha-ha or go for the big guffaw. Look at Mae West. I had no interest in her as a kid—maybe because the Catholic Legion of Decency didn’t want us to see her pictures—but now I love her movies, because her double entendres are priceless! They’re funny and suggestive without aiming for the gutter.

I GUESS SEAN PENN IS OKAY
—I hate to say this, but Sean Penn is one of my least favorite people, as well as one of Fox News’s. But you know what, I can’t deny the guy is a good actor. I care about him when he’s playing someone. Other times, when he’s playing somebody who’s not so nice, I can’t wait to see him get his comeuppance. [
Dead Man Getting Comeuppance
.] He can play almost anything. Really, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be bad, as much as it kills me to say that.

ENOUGH WITH THE LANGUAGE
—I remember what a big deal it was when Clark Gable said, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn” in
Gone With the Wind
. How things have changed. It’s almost unusual now to see a movie without the “f” word all over the place, and without nude scenes. TV’s getting bad now, too, thanks to HBO. It’s coarsening America, and I don’t think kids can handle all this stuff. [
Fuck those kids. They’ll be fine
.]

KNOCK OFF THE UNNECESSARY SEX
—Just knock it off. [
Calm down, Mary
.] In my day, you’d see the couple go in the bedroom, the door would close, and then you’d hear thunder and lightning, or see curtains blowing, and we all got the picture. [
There was bad weather outside?
] But now, we don’t always have to see the couple in some nasty embrace, and then linger, and linger. Okay, we know they’re kissing, we know they’re going to make whoopee, but I don’t want to see it. I feel dirty, like I’m looking through a keyhole at something I have no business looking at. You can show they’re in love with glances or hand-holding, or a nice hug. Cut that other stuff down, and then you’re fine. [
Oh God, I don’t even know where to start.
]

MAKE MORE MOVIES LIKE THE BUTCHER BOY
—[
WTF?
] Sometimes you see a movie where you’re so drained because it’s so good, and everybody in the theater feels the same way, that nobody moves when it’s over. Everyone looks at one another, and it’s just silence. Or maybe you’ll hear a quiet “Wasn’t that great?” I just love that shared experience. Well, when Johnny and I saw
The Butcher Boy,
that one killed us. It’s this Irish movie about a poor wretch of a kid who has this rotten life, as hard as he tries to be upbeat about it. But his father’s a violent alcoholic and his mother commits suicide, and when the bitch of a neighbor spreads vicious rumors, he ends up murdering the neighbor and then gets sent to an asylum. Everyone was just wrecked afterward, drained. That movie was just wonderful! [
The Catholic version of a musical comedy.
]