My mother told me,
"If you ever become a rock star, don't smash the guitar.
There are too many poor kids out there who have nothing
And they see that sh**, when all they want to do
is play that thing.
Boy, you better let 'em play."
Okay, if she ever starts in on one of these lectures
Your best bet is to pull up a chair, chief
Because Mama doesn't deal in the abridged version.
She worries about me so much some days
It's like watching windshield wipers
On high speed during a light sprinkle
And I gotta tell her,
"Mom, you're making me nervous."
She was born to be laid back, I swear
But some of us were brought up in households
Where carefree is a stick of gum
And the only option for getting out
Is to walk faster
The woman can RUN
In high heels
Backwards
While double checking my homework
Bursting my bubble
Rolling enough coins to make sure
I have lunch money
And preparing for a meeting at my school
On her only day off
So she can tell Miss Gauss, the music teacher,
"If you ever touch my boy again, big lady,
I'll bounce a hammer off your skull."
I remember doing these things swiftly and with a smile
In discounted thrift store business suits
That she wore just bright and distinguished enough
To cover up 30 years of highway scars trucking through her spine.
Some accidents you don't' need to see, rubber necker.
Keep moving, cuz she made it.
She's alive and she's famous.
We can stretch Van Gogh paintings from Seattle, WA to Binghamton, NY
And you still won't won't find the brilliant brush strokes
It takes to be a single mother sacrificing the best part of her dreams
To raise a baby boy who, on most days, she probably wants to strangle.
We disagree a lot.
For instance, mom still thinks it's okay to carry on a conversation at 7 AM
Where as I think...
"I'm sorry, I don't think it's 7 in the morning."
But we both agree that love makes no mistakes,
So, at night time when she's winding down
And I'm still writing books about how
to get comfortable in the skin she gave me.
I see rock stars on stages smashing guitars
And it's then when I want to find 'em a comfortable chair
Get 'em a snack and introduce them today
Like, "This is my mother, Tresa B. Olson
Runner of the tight shift
Taker of the temperature
Leaver of the light on
Lover of the underdog
Mover of the mountain
Winner of the good life
Keeper of the hope chest
Guitar repair woman
And I am her son, Buddy Wakefield
I play a tricked-out electric pen
Thanks to the makers of music and metaphor
But I do my best to keep the words in check.
And I use a padded microphone so I don't hurt you.
Because, sometimes, I smash things.
And I don't want to let her down.