Mother Thunder
Mother Thunder
My mother did not come to the planet for motherhood even though she bore children.
Climbing the social ladder, presiding over large groups of women in the suburbs was her thing. My father was at the very least and on a good day dramatic and intense to be around. he was one of the most needy people I ever met, yet brilliant in his field and one of the largest tippers I ever knew -so he was all kinds of things. my mother also had little time for that.
There is an old photo of my mother in the family archives. A beautiful red headed buxom woman of 27 years, smoking a viceroy cigarette wearing kitty-kat sunglasses standing in front of her 1959 yellow chevy impala car with large fins. its a dramatic photo and really tells a story. nothing was going to get in my mothers way - not her husband - not her children - nobody. what she wanted I still don’t know but I have a hunch she might have found it.
Looking back all of us in the family were looking to my mother for comfort.
She had an agenda. She was beautiful for the times and what she lacked in intelligence she made up for with hyper-charisma drama and tears.
I’m not sure why I had the relationship I did with her. she spent 36 hours in labor with me and reminded me often.
it is through women that men are born so I’m not clueless regarding the sacrifice’s any woman makes. I was raised by my mother and my two older sisters. All the women in my family are strong have a deep sense of self and are pretty amazing including my mother.
somehow though I bonded with ‘ruby’ our occasional black housekeeper who would drink my parents booze, she would make me velveta grilled cheese sandwiches for my silence and she got it.
Ruby and I would laugh in the kitchen while my mother was gone - ruby was a safe place for me, she saw what was going on. She got fired but it was the start of my faith in black women. years later on the 4th floor of a scottsdale hospital I was told to make my last wishes and arrangements before a surgery that would remove my spleen etc. due to a rare blood disorder that had me deep in it’s grip. A large black woman Physician came into my room, examined me and we talked.
physicians had been in and out all day. she shook her head and said ‘if it was me I would not let them take out my spleen or anything else. how about ironwood cancer center in mesa?’ that was it she left and I took her advice was indeed treated at ironwood - bless the doctors and Nurses there and ruby too.
other people loved my mother deeply and she was the star in their lives, the women on the other side of the telephone seemed to me to be the most important people in the room.
as I said she donated time to the church arranging flowers - I have a feeling she might have been like patricia routledge as mrs. bucket (Keeping Up Appearances) in that role but just a feeling. Mother had grit and beauty - I have grit - beauty was never interested in me nor i in it - save for my work.
she always used to say ‘if i was a man….” then go on and on.
one day at about 26 years old when she said this I just fired back “if you were a man someone would have beat the shit out of you years ago”
not the nicest thing to say but this is a perfect glimpse of our relationship. maybe she looked at the world through more dreamy eyes. I like to make my dreams come true and that usually takes stepping away from society to create not playing keep up with the jones’.
I knew my family was different than all the other suburban white folks that surrounded us.
My mother would not make lunch for me and oddly I don’t really care about stuff like that. By 5 years old I already understood that I was on my own. Each morning before school my mother slept while I got ready, made my own lunch. I lived on peanut butter and honey sandwiches for years. my father so afraid of her drama, would make her tea and leave it by her bedside then leave for work.
You think I was going to wake that Lion for anything- No thanks I’m not incapable, even very young I became suspicious of both my parents. Their personal goals came before me, neglect became my best friend and a great source of adventure.
My mother could charm people into doing her bidding. I was never charmed by her as she worked us like servants around her house. Weekends were lost not to playing with my friends but to working at my fathers business then coming home to work for my mother.
One afternoon at nine years old, I was sweeping the back stairs knowing an inspection would be imminent when my mother came outside and she said something - I have a very good sense of humor (developed from necessity).
I said something back and it pissed her off. I had my head down sweeping the stairs and the next thing I know a wooden broom thick with solid wood handle, was slammed full force across my back breaking the broom in half and causing me to bleed, running down the stairs trying to protect myself from my own mother.
(My fathers beatings were much worse but he’s not an interesting man to me, so we won’t talk about that too much here - save to say when beating me he always said ‘you’ll never amount to anything’ but as i stated earlier I did not trust him and went on to create a vast music catalogue, wrote 32 books, took care of my life partner in death and tried to heal myself while forgiving)
during the 1960’s and 1970’s there were Hours and hours mother spent on the phone. my memories of my mother are those of a woman tethered to a long telephone cord having a conversation while directing me to do chores around her. I’m good at dirty jobs, chores and anything that needs inspection.
Holidays were brutal. The amount of work it takes to impress other women in the suburbs is huge. I still look at Christmas as maybe a time of good food.
I am a beliver and love the christ vibration but even jesus would be tested being with my mom.
My mother would gather her children to decorate the tree then once we left she would take all the ornaments down and redo the whole tree -so why the fuck did we even decorate.
this is the part of her personality that was not just a bit obsessive but actually became dangerous to me as I got older.
Getting me out the door.
My mother bore two more sons after me and as the middle child I was disposable. She would let me know that I was about to spend the weekend with people she had just met, anything to get me out of the house. She would hand her first born son over to any man or woman who would take him for the weekend, the afternoon or for an hour.
I don’t even have to go into all the problems this creates including pedophiles, untowardly people and strangers who had their hands on her Oldest Son. While this may sound shocking today it did not bother her a bit.
the only safe place with my parents was away from them and even that had dangers.
My IQ is Legendary for it’s very low testing scores. I’m not smart in academia but I’m very good at reading people and connecting in an authentic soulful way. that was my only way to survive and yes my sense of humor is over developed, clever and I understand why great comedians come from turbulent upbringing’s. IF you are sad and down I can lift your spirits - it’s just a gift from god or whoever is in charge these days.
My memoir’s are coming out in 3 books (60’s 70’s 80’s) and the first book is a blast -yet reads like neglect no matter how I dress it up, I tried but then gave up.
In this neglect I learned that other parents could read my mother and chose to help me - yet kept her at bay because they saw through her. These are the people that I look to as my saviour's in life. A weekend spent at a friend's parents house usually was the safest place for me. I was a good guest, still am.
Somehow we made some strange kind of peace over the years. WHAT I LOVED MOST ABOUT MY MOTHER WAS HER MOTHER. MY GRANDMOTHER WAS ALSO BEAUTIFUL. A NORTHERN NEW MEXICO WOMAN WITH A BIT OF CHEROKEE IN OUR FAMILY BLOOD. MY GRANDMOTHERS CHEEKBONES WERE VERY HIGH AND SHE WAS NOT TO BE MESSED WITH.
SHE REMINDED ME OF GEORGIA O’KEEFFE IN HER OLD ADOBE. i USED TO VISIT NEW MEXICO WITH MY MOTHER VIA A PROPeller PLANE IN THE 1960’S. SUMMERTIME ON MY GRANDPARENTS RANCHITO WAS ALWAYS A SAFE HAVEN AND i CAME TO LOVE THE MONSOON SEASON ACROSS THE SOUTHWEST.
MY GRANDMOTHER WAS NOT IMPRESSED WITH MY OWN MOTHERS LIFE. MY GRANDMOTHER VALUED GARDENING, TRUTH, CHURCH AND POKER. POWERFUL SIMPLICITY - THAT WAS NOT MY MOTHERS AMBITION.
Mother’s love of beauty, interior design and art combined with a love of cooking did indeed influence me and I am grateful, but selective gratitude works best with her.
three days before my mother died I was changing her bandages and just sitting with her. We talked about life after death and spiritual things.
At one point she looked over to my father who was sitting far across the room and said to me “I created a monster”.
By that time I’d gone through therapy, watched my therapist cry at stories where I had no tears, so I understood the depth of this statement.
I held her hand and said “I know Mom, I knew this at 10 years old” She understood and it was one of our last conversations.
years after the death of both my parents I saw them in a dream.
at the stockton tunnel on bush street. in the dream it was san francisco of the 1950’s everything was clean, my mother beautiful and looking in her 30’s walked across the street and took my hand. we walked as if nothing had happened. my father trailed us and I turned and said to him you must be feeling so much better - somehow knowing this was a dream. he replied no not feeling better. this was my proof it was truly him.
I love my mother, difficult as she was - but it’s not an ordinary love -it can’t be brought out in the open everyday. The wounds are healed but the scars on my ribs from my father beating me and my back scared from my mother beating me will always be there. all I can do is forgive her and love her from this place of safety. I’ve learned to not only mother myself but father myself too - and forgive them both for behaviors no one would ever tolerate today.
Nicholas Vitale San Francisco 2026