Red Haired Mary
Red Haired Mary is my mom. I couldn't have asked for a better one, frankly. I like to call her momster. She was always the most comforting person in my life, even when she was too frazzled to protect me from the torture my sister inflicted on me. I clearly remember her hollering from the other room for us to knock it off!! as though I was equally responsible for being pinned down and tickled. She took me to my first and only Badger football game, and I think she was thrilled that we had a day together filled with such excitement. We snuggled on the couch under blankets together in those cold dark f-f-freezing days of winter. My first clear memory of her -- I'm five years old. She's sitting on a chair where I try to squeeze in next to her. She says, in a strained voice, "No, honey, you can't sit with me right now." Then my dad took her to the hospital where she birthed my little brother. I suppose labor pains are as good an excuse as any to have your chair t...


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