It was February 1971 and I was pissed!

Hell, Woodstock was a year and a half ago… “Mom and Dad, are you kidding me?!?! You won’t let me go into Manhattan to the Fillmore East to see Steppenwolf?!? I’m a sophomore in high school! I’m old enough! What is wrong with you?!?!”

“Well, fuck this. I’m running away from home!”

And I did for a couple nights. Stayed at a friend of a friend’s house in the next town. (Pre cell-phones, so they had no way of contacting me or finding me.)

After a couple nights, after I made my point, I triumphantly walked in the back door, ready for them to apologize for screwing up my social life.

My father reached down and hauled my ass up four steps in one motion. He carried me by my collar into their bedroom and angrily said, “Look at what you’ve done to your mother.”

Mom was sobbing hysterically, but she couldn’t stop smiling as she hugged me. 

And then I got it. 

All she cared about was that I was OK. She was horrified about what might have happened to her baby, and was so relieved that I was OK, she just couldn’t stop smiling.

This week, while there are soooooooooo many things I am thankful for, I wanted to send a special shout-out to Mom, who passed away in 1994.

Thanks Mom! More than ever.

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