While My Boyfriend Was Sleeping

What I write after Joe and Henry go to bed

Archives for September 2012

Mr. Big Deal Package

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When I was a senior at Buffalo State College I attended a frat party at nearby SUNY Geneseo, where my best friend Ro was studying speech pathology. I was less than a year away from earning a bachelor’s degree in journalism.

In between keg stands and the Beastie Boys’ greatest hits I met a guy who started our conversation by bragging about his package. Uh. Wait. I mean his degree in packaging.

“PACKAGING?” I asked.

“Packaging engineering,” he replied.

I was incredulous. Frat boys are expert bullshitters, especially condescending drunk ones.

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In the shadows of a supermom

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Every day I try to be more like my mother and every day I fall short.

She exudes goodness. It follows her like a pretty scent on a warm day.

I’ll never be as good.

My mother’s goodness can’t be learned. It doesn’t come from reading self-help books, practicing yoga or going to church. It’s inherently selfless and unaware. It’s ingrained in such a way that my unassuming mother would never laud herself for possessing such a redeeming character trait.

If she’s reading this right now — even if it’s alone in her house in the afternoon hours before my father comes home from work — she’s probably blushing. She has red hair and a freckled complexion that easily flushes.

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On track

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Something I think about all the time:

My neighbor has a step-daughter who’s a few years older than I am. I met her a couple years ago at a party. She’s funny, in her 30s, the mother of a six-year-old, and currently recovering from a kidney transplant.

After spending more than a year on dialysis waiting for a donor, she found her match this summer.  She knows very little about the donor, other than the fact that he or she lost their life shortly before saving hers.

She had surgery in May. Her body accepted the organ as if it had always been there, as if it’s had her name on it for years.

Whenever I see my neighbor, I ask how she’s feeling. Each time I get a better, more cheerful answer.

The first time I inquired, he said, “She’s doing well. We were all worried for so long. It’s a terrible thing to see your children sick.”

I told him I couldn’t fathom it, that I would be a basket case if anything happened to Henry.

To which he replied, “That’s why we should all laugh and eat ice cream every day.”