may 9th, 2024

Today’s Playlist: #1 Mom Pendant

It's Mother's Day weekend. Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms, stepmoms, surrogate moms, grandmoms, great grandmoms, mothers-in-law, aunts, great aunts, and the rest of the superwomen that keep the world spinning. You’re loved, you’re appreciated, and you’re noticed, at least by this guy.

Bit of different approach with the playlist today: Instead of songs that remind me of my mother, I’m going to make a mix of songs that were #1 on various Billboard Charts during important times in my mother and I’s relationship. 

Endless Love (Diana Ross and Lionel Richie)-I was born in late September of ’81, while this duet by Diana Ross and Lionel Richie was in the middle of a seven-week run atop the Billboard Hot 100. Makes sense that I entered the world during this song’s reign, as ‘80s love songs are probably my favorite genre of music to listen to. Part of the reason I love those songs so much is that my mom loves them, and we listened to a shit ton of ‘80s adult contemporary music together on 103.7 KVIL in Dallas/Fort Worth during America’s favorite decade. By the way, a little quick math and…it’s very likely I was conceived on or around New Year’s Eve the year prior. Just for shits and grins, what was the #1 song in America on 12/31/80…checking…looks like “(Just Like) Starting Over” by John Lennon. Hmm. Decent song, but “Lady” by Kenny Rogers, “Hungry Heart” by Bruce Springsteen, and “Smoky Mountain Rain” by Ronnie Milsap were also in the Top 50, so I’ll choose to believe that my life at a cellular level began with one of those three masterpieces playing. Although, knowing my dad, it was probably Gordon Lightfoot or Chicago. 

Africa (Toto)-Such a jam, this was the #1 song in early February of 1983, which is when my brother was born. For those of you that aren’t math majors, that means that my mother was pregnant with my brother roughly seven months after having me. Certainly not planned, I’ve been told, and it assuredly wasn’t ideal for a young couple in their early 20s, but I think both Ma and Pa were (eventually) pretty happy with the way it turned out. My brother and I were only one grade apart in school, played a ton of sports together growing up, and had the same circle of friends in high school; we even became really good friends ourselves. There were times when I wished there was some more space between our births (mainly when he would sit on my chest and beat the shit out of me ‘cause he was always stronger than me), but overall our relationship was a great one, and I love him very much. I don’t see my brother as much as I’d like, but that’s more of a function of living several hours apart from each other than anything else. Bottom line: my mom gave birth to and helped raise two intelligent, self-aware, creative, empathetic, and loving sons. I’m sure she would count that as a win. 

La Bamba (Los Lobos)-The top song in the States when I started attending school was this asswhip of a song by Los Lobos. Let’s be honest: it sucks. Give me “Macarena” or “Bailamos” every time over this shit. 

I digress…I started kindergarten in August of ’87, and I fucking loved it. Part of the reason is that my mother did a terrific job of getting me excited for school. We read almost every night, we did math, and she constantly told me how much I was going to love school. And she was right. If it would have been 2017 instead of 1987 when I was gearing up for elementary school, she probably would have had a blog or a YouTube channel chronicling what she did that would have had legions of followers, ‘cause it was really effective. I wish I’d have taken more of a cue from her when my son was close to starting school, but I was too busy being the most selfish dude on the planet and indulging every whim I had in terms of drinking and drugs. 

Right Here Waiting (Richard Marx)- The #1 song for most of August ’89 was this one. Heavy, heavy sigh. And a heavy, heavy heart. I’ve already written about my mom’s mom passing away (including the song played at her funeral that makes me ugly cry whenever I hear it), but the story leading up to her passing is etched into my memory as deeply as her funeral.

My dad’s from Wisconsin, and every summer for several years in a row he would load up his bride and his two sons for a 1,200 mile drive to his homeland. 1989 was no different, save for one glaring exception: Texas grandma had cancer. Brain cancer. Aggressive brain cancer. I was only seven at the time, but even at that age you kinda know what’s what. By July of ’89 it was obvious that she didn’t have long to live, but we went on our vacation to the north. We would typically stay up there for a couple of weeks, and that was the plan that was executed this time…until it wasn’t. We were in a shit brown 1987 Chevy Suburban, literally less than 50 miles from my dad’s mom’s house near Wausau, Wisconsin, on our way back to Fort Worth, when the universe taught me a very important lesson: It don’t give a blue fuck about your feelings. 

I was excited about going home for a lot of reasons, but one of them was that Texas grandma was still alive. I cherished my relationship with this woman, especially now as she was nearing the end of her life, and couldn’t wait to see her. The universe and this Suburban—and I can’t reiterate enough how shitty brown this thing was—had other ideas, though, as something went wrong with something, and the engine died. I think the carburetor got flooded with some radiator fluid in the axel suspension, maybe? I don’t know, I’m most decidedly not a car guy. All I know is that the shit wasn’t running. We got towed back to Wisconsin grandma’s house; all the while Texas grandma is getting closer and closer to dying. We’re told it will take a few days to fix our impossibly shite brown Suburban, which is less than ideal for many reasons. Reason 1) My mom’s mom could literally die any day now. Reason 2) On this trip with us was my great aunt, Aunt Helen, who was in her mid-80s at this point. There were a lot of moving parts to this thing, and they needed to get sorted, fast. 

My mom and Aunt Helen flew back to Texas shortly thereafter and my mother, thankfully, got to see her mother again before she died. I think it was one of those deals where she was waiting on her daughter to get back to see her before she died, ‘cause in my memory it happened pretty quickly once she arrived back in Texas. She called my dad, my dad told me and my brother what happened, I saw my dad cry for the first time, and I distinctly remember taking a walk amongst some apple trees later with my brother and the two of us having a good cry about it. Some shit you just don’t forget.

My dad, my brother and I eventually made the trip back south, we buried Texas grandma amid a cacophony of tears and Bette Midler, and life goes on. But in the 35 years since, I’ve yet to hear Mr. Marx’s masterpiece without thinking of that vacation, and all it entailed.

I’ve Come to Expect It from You (George Strait)-This was #1 on the Billboard Country chart for the final week of 1990, which is when my family moved from Fort Worth to…a place south of DFW that was decidedly not Fort Worth. We moved to what you would generously describe as a “town” when I was in the 3rd grade, and obviously that changed some things. New friends, new schools, new demographics…everything. One of the ways my mom acclimated was she started to listen to country music. I was only familiar with whatever Ron Chapman was spinning on KVIL, but I’m really glad my mom pivoted to country music at this time. I love the genre, especially stuff from 1970-2000, and I wouldn’t appreciate it and enjoy it nearly as much as I do if it wasn’t for my mom. 

The Sign (Ace of Base)-Ace of Base was everywhere in May of ’94; unfortunately, that was also true of the cancer in the body of my mom’s dad (we called him “Pop”). I’ve written about him before, and it’s no hyperbole to say he’s my favorite person that’s ever lived that isn’t one of my kids. I can’t overstate how much I loved him, and how much his death affected me. 

The thing I remember most about the day he died is that I had a baseball game. Baseball has been a huge part of my life for almost the entirety of it, and thus has been a huge part of the relationship between my mother and I, but in a lot of ways the mother/son/baseball connection that exists to this day was forged on the day Pop died. I really wanted to play that day but wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. I was 12, right? I didn’t know anything. I asked my mom, and she said, “Do you want to play?” I told her yes. She said, “What do you think Pop would tell you to do?” I answered that he’d likely tell me to get my skinny ass out there and find a way to help my team win a ballgame. She said, “Well go do that, then.” And I did. I played really well and cried quite a bit behind my sunglasses, but I can’t remember being more dialed in on the field or at peace with a decision since. Miss you, Pop.

My Heart Will Go On(Céline Dion)-This song is from the “Titanic” soundtrack, and both it and the film were ubiquitous in the spring of ’98. I was too busy trying to make the varsity baseball team as a sophomore to pay attention to pop culture that wasn’t “The Simpsons” or the latest from No Limit Records, however, an approach that ultimately paid off. I made the team as a pitcher and made my first varsity start in late February 1998. 7.0 innings pitched, no runs, three hits, no walks…no big deal. Actually, that’s bullshit. It was a huge deal, for both my mom and me. There really isn’t a pride that shines as brightly and transparently as that of a mother that gets to revel in the aftermath of one of her kids excelling at something they love to do. 

Maria Maria (Santana feat. The Product G&B)-In 37+ years of frequenting baseball fields as a player, coach, and spectator, I’ve been ejected from exactly one game; so has my mom.

It was the same game.

April of 2000.  Santana was experiencing a late career resurgence with “Smooth” and “Maria Maria.” I was a senior in high school, and my team was playing our biggest rival in a game at home.

We were losing 3-0 in heading into the 7th inning, and I was pitching…fine. Just fine. I was very average most of the time in high school, and this day was a microcosm of most of my scholastic pitching career: Good enough to keep my team in a game, but not good enough to win it. The starting pitcher for the other team was dealing, though, and he happened to be the leadoff hitter in the 7th inning. Dude was a right-handed pitcher that hit left-handed named Chris, and at that point I childishly and immaturely decided that our best chance of winning this game would be if Chris were no longer on the mound. Long story short: I threw six straight pitches that were intended to hit his pitching elbow, but missed with each one. The sixth pitch found Chris’s ribs, though, and the umpire immediately ejected me. He should have run me after the second one, ‘cause it was blatantly obvious what I was trying to do. It was stupid, and dangerous, and irresponsible, and disrespectful, not only to Chris but to the game at large, and is easily the biggest blight on my career. That’s not what makes this story, though. What happened between two Mama Bears growling in the stands is what makes this tale hum. 

My mother is a lot of things, but quiet and reserved at her son’s games was never, ever, ever one of them. She loves her boys, and especially loved watching them compete, and sometimes that passion could morph into aggression. To wit, as soon as I get ejected, she starts in on the umpire, just hammering this poor guy. I can’t remember exactly what she said, ‘cause I was busy feigning righteous indignation, but I’m sure it was something along the lines of “Oh that’s bullshit, you can’t do that.” Chris’s mom, named Carla and someone that my mom had known a couple years at that point, then started in:

Carla: “Get him out of here!!!” 

Mom: “He didn’t do it on purpose!!!”

Carla: “Yes he did hit him on purpose, and you know it!!!” 

Mom: “Oh shut it Carla, no he didn’t!!!”

Carla: “He threw six in a row at him!!!”

Mom: “He didn’t do it purpose!!!”

Carla: “Yes he did, and he deserved to be ejected!!!”

The above exchange likely did not happen verbatim, as it was almost a quarter century ago and there was a lot going on at the moment. My mom’s next line, though, is one that I’ll always be able to remember, no matter how old I get or how mushy my brain turns:

“Bitch, are we gonna have a problem?”

She said it loudly, and clearly, and forcefully, and it’s hard to overstate how kickass of her it was. She wasn’t really going to fight anyone, but standing up for me, even in a moment that I was clearly in the wrong, is something I’ll never forget. It was so unbelievably gangster of her, and it was also enough to get her ejected from the premises. So, mother and son walked side-by-side to the parking lot together, on the only occasion either of us has been barred from a sporting event. We promised each other we'd never get kicked out of a game without the other, a pact that still stands 24 years later. 

Burn (Usher)-This song was HUGE in the spring of ’04 and served as a major part of the soundtrack of my senior season of college baseball.

The most fun period of my life was the four years I played college baseball. I fucking LOVED everything about it, and I’m so glad I got to have the experiences I had. One of the best parts of it was that I went to a school only a few miles from home, so my parents were able to attend almost every home game. They also were able to make many, many, many, away games, especially my mom. 2:00 PM first pitch on a Wednesday in Tulsa? She’s there. 6:00 PM game Friday night in south Texas? She’s there, front row. Three-game weekend series in Hammond, Louisiana, which is a 10-hour drive from the Metroplex? You bet your ass she was there. She was a trooper, and a road warrior, and we’ll both always be grateful that she was able to make so many games…

…especially the last one. I pitched in over 130 games in college, and the last one occurred in late May of ’04. Most seasons don’t end the way you want them to, and ours that year was no exception. We lost in the quarter finals of our conference tournament, and that was it. The season, and my college career, was over. I was CRUSHED (especially since I gave up an RBI single to a right-handed hitter in a big spot, which rarely ever happened; sawed that motherfucker off, too, he just found a hole), but mom was there to hug me, and laugh with me, and cry with me. ‘Cause of course she was.

Bleeding Love (Leona Lewis)-Oh man. Which of the several times I’ve had to tell my mom that my drug use was out of control should I write about? How about the first one?

I’m an addict and have been very upfront about that aspect of my life on this site. I’m in recovery now (747 days as of the writing of this), but in May of ’08, when Leona Lewis was dominating the charts with “Bleeding Love,” I was most certainly not in recovery. 

In fact, I was just ramping up that part of my life. I was living in Tyler, Texas, and teaching/coaching at a 2A high school out that way. I’d used many, many drugs by this point, and had even experienced my first few bouts of withdrawal from opiates, but when I took this job my drug use was still safely on this side of “addictive.” That changed in November of ’07, when I met a dude at a bar who promptly became my drug dealer. I’d buy pills from him a couple times a month, and for a while things were fine. I was getting high on the reg, and nobody knew what was going on. But then, in a narrative that would repeat itself over, and over, and over, and over in the next decade and a half, things spiraled. I ramped up my use, I started spending way more money than I could afford to, and I started making completely asinine decisions (like showing up at my dealer’s house uninvited) that resulted in significant consequences (like him pointing a gun at me). I was fucking losing it, but I was 26 and an active addict that truly didn’t want to get sober, which is a recipe for extremely poor decision making.

One of the poor decisions I made was to start Methadone treatment. Methadone is an opioid (a synthetically derived drug that acts on the opiate receptors in the body) and is typically prescribed to folks trying to get off heroin or other potent opiates. At that point I was exclusively abusing hydrocodone, the Coke Zero of opiates (it’ll do in a pinch if that’s all you have, but you’ll be pissed you don’t have the real thing), and was taking such a low dose (40-50 milligrams a day) that I could have quit cold turkey and been fine after a few days. I didn’t know shit about shit about any of that at the time, though, and the assholes running the clinic weren’t about to turn away a potential customer, so I got started on Methadone. I should have known Methadone was going to be a problem when the first dose of 25 milligrams got me WAY higher than a handful of 10 milligram hydrocodone would. Of course (and this can’t be stressed enough), at this point I didn’t really want to get sober, so I went with it.

Methadone 100% changed my behavior. Most addicts will tell you that they don’t act much differently when they’re high and, to an extent, that’s true. High on Oxycontin, hydrocodone, or even morphine, I was still me, just turned up to 11 or 12. Methadone, though, was different, and I could tell in real time. I was much more open and honest about things, but I was also much more confrontational and belligerent. Basically, it made me into even more of an asshole than I already was, which was quite a bit of asshole to begin with.

One of the first things I decided to do less than an hour into Methadone treatment was to tell like 15 people that I was an addict. I started with my mom, and that was…shitty. Really shitty. She’s a mom, and very intelligent, so she wasn’t shocked when I told her, but I’m sure it still killed her to hear it. And much to my dismay, there was very little cathartic about it on my end. I thought I was making some grand gesture and taking a huge step towards accountability and sobriety, when in reality I was just looking for attention and someone to tell me they loved me. She provided me with those things, and was a trooper during that whole chapter, but I’m sure she’d tell you she absolutely did not like the person I became, and probably didn’t enjoy being around me. 

Call Me Maybe (Carly Rae Jaspen)-Ms. Jaspen’s mega-hit was unavoidable in June of 2012, and was prominently featured at my wife and I’s wedding reception. If you’re married, you know how much easier it makes things when your spouse and your parents get along. My mom and wife get along famously, and these days may be closer than my mother and I just because they spend so much time together. She’s retired from a 9-to-5, but mom has been an enormous help to our household, picking the kids up from school, taking them to doctor appointments and games/practices, and helping us out in any way possible. It’s awesome, we’re super spoiled, and we absolutely don’t take it for granted.

Blurred Lines (Robin Thicke)-“Blurred Lines” was the number one song in the country in late August 2013, when my nephew was born and my mother became a grandmother for the first time (a Mimi, specifically). She became a grandmother again in November 2014 my son was born. She’s a terrific grandmother, the kids love her to death, and I really appreciate how she lets me raise my children in the manner I see fit without interjecting. She’ll give me advice when I ask for it, but I think she realizes something a lot of grandparents don’t: She had her turn raising kids, and she crushed it. Now she’s got to trust in the job she did and give her children a chance to be the best parents they can be, which we’re certainly trying to do. Of course it’s not perfect, and of course we fuck up all the time, but when you see my brother or I interact with our children, it’s obvious we love and care for them a great deal. Quite honestly, that part isn’t that hard; we learned from the best. 

Last Night (Morgan Wallen)-Morgan Wallen is a fucking clown, but this song dominated the charts in May of 2023, so it makes the list. What happened in May of 2023? For the first time since at least the year 2000, I spend Mother’s Day with my mom 100% sober. It was great. I smoked a tri tip, we chilled at the house, watched a couple ballgames…really good day. 

I’m grateful for my sobriety for a ton of reasons, and the fact that it means so much to my mom is near the top of the list. I have no idea what it’s like to have a child that’s an addict, and I hope I never do. I’ll probably be better equipped to handle it than most, but I hope it’s something I never encounter. It’s gotta be exhausting, and stressful, and expensive, and my addiction has likely shaved a few days/weeks/month/years off my mother’s life. It breaks my heart that she’ll never be able to fully relax and not have to worry about getting the phone call that I’m using again; it really does. That’s 1000% not fair to her, and normally this is where I’d apologize to her, for that and everything else. But I try not to apologize for my addiction these days. Everyone knows how remorseful I am, and at a certain point the words “I’m sorry” lose their meaning. What has incredibly deep meaning, however, is how I live my life going forward. In one day, I can’t make right all of the shitty things I did; all the lying, and stealing, and deceiving I did; all the heartache, and worry, and stress I caused; all the money I wasted. I couldn’t make all that right if I had 100,000 days, so there’s no use trying. All I can do, and all anyone can ask of me, is try to be the best version of myself possible. On most days, the best version of me is a pretty kickass dude. Which makes sense, ‘cause I have a pretty kickass mom.

I love you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day

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Wasn’t expecting to go north of 4K words on my mom today, but sometimes the ink starts flowing and it don’t stop ‘til you’ve knocked out almost five pages. 

Originally this was going to include a power ranking of the 10 Hottest MILFs of all time. If I’m still doing this a year from now, that list is absolutely coming (probably super early).

The email is armsidefun@gmail.com. I’m on Twitter @ArmSideFun. 

Call your mom, hug your kids, and don’t be an asshole.