Tango

As a child my mother subscribed to PSYCHOLOGY TODAY. I never saw her read it but she loved to one-up everyone she met by psychoanalyzing them. She did the same to me and the dolls she made to look like our family just so she could analyze where I placed them. classical music was a weapon. She would blare a Brahms Symphony at me whenever I tried to talk to her or whenever we were oversleeping to seven am. She'd ring the doorbell to call us for dinner but did not eat with us. She yelled our names a lot announcing that she was going grocery shopping, inviting us to participate in her greatest hobby. I'd stay home and dance to my music, happy as a clam knowing she was gone. My step father really LOVED music and would use his ears and heart when listening. My mother was jealous that we loved him more. He was easy to love. She was impossible. He wore thin black cashmere sweaters while in his Eames chair doing crossword puzzles, listening to Segovia or The Who. On Saturday mornings he made animal-shaped pancakes with grilled bananas. My mother put a stop to it. One Memorial Day father grilled swordfish steaks on the patio. My mother rushed out and bought a turkey and baked it in the kitchen just in case the swordfish didn't come out good.