Mother's Day, Miami Florida.


"Happy Mother's Day," I say to my grandmother then kissing her cheek.  I have brought along a tin of McClintock full flavor cigarette tobacco and a box of Black Death cigarette papers (as she like to roll her own).

"Very nice," says my grandmother then opening the tin of tobacco.  "Smells good."

"Black Death, grandma," I say then pulling the packet of rolling papers from my shirt pocket.  "Your favorite brand."  

"This is for you, mom," I say to my mother who is sitting alongside my grandmother.

"You're so thoughtful, Norman," she says.

"It's an actual record player," I say.  "You can play all your old records." 

"My God," says my mother then opening the lid of the Crosley record player.

"It only weighs 12 pounds," I say, smiling.  

"You sonofabitch," says my grandmother then throwing the tin of McClintock tobacco at me.

"What's going on?" I say.  

"You buy her a record player and I get a can of stale tobacco and a dollar seventy five cent packet of rolling papers."  One of the Black Death rolling papers is dangling from my grandmothers bottom lip.

"I always get you tobacco," I say.  My good to look at date places the tin of tobacco back on the dining room table then says: 

"Your grandson was hoping to put a smile on your face."

"Who are you?" says my grandmother. She has bent her thick fingers into the shape of a fist.  

"Mother, please," says my mother to my grandmother.

"You're courting, her?" says my grandmother.    

"She's just a friend," I say wishing I hadn't.

"What does that mean?" says my date then putting three scoops of mashed potatoes onto her plate.

"It's important to be friends first," says my mother then putting a glass to her lips.    

"Baloney," says my grandmother.  She is using her thick fingers to put tobacco onto a Black Death rolling paper.   

"Baloney?" I say.  

"That's enough," says my mother.  "It's Mother's Day and we're all going to enjoy one another and this lovely meal."

"You're right, mom," I say then kissing the top of her hand.

"Happy Mother's Day," says my good to look at date then putting her hand on top of my grandmothers fat, water retaining hand.  

"This is good tobacco," says my grandmother as she exhales McClintock full flavor cigarette tobacco smoke from her used up lungs. 


Later my sister and her new boyfriend arrived then went into the bathroom together for several hours.  Of course, I mentioned how unsanitary I thought it was to be inhaling the fumes of people making love just a few feet from our Mother's Day feast (even mentioning the SARS virus) but nobody seemed interested.