Back on May 6 in the lord’s year of 1988, my brother David turned 18. He was a junior in high school, and he wasn’t an especially easy kid to shop for. He wasn’t into sports, or music, or knitting, polka, water bottles. Just … not an automatic gift sorta guy. Anyhow, one morning I said to Mom, “David’s 18—I wanna buy him a Playboy.” My mother laughed, and before long we were inside the Jefferson Valley Mall, at the Waldenbooks’ register. “Can we have one Playboy,” Mom told the guy behind the counter. It must have been the oddest of sights—this 40-something woman and her snot-nosed son, purchasing a tit mag.
I remember, at the time, thinking how unique Mom was; how v-e-r-y few (if any) other mothers on the block would have done such a thing. It happened to be the perfect gift for David—funny, age-appropriate, sorta quirky.
I hope I’m the same type of cool as Mom was back in the day.
It’s a high bar to aim for.