The phone was picked up in the middle of the first ring. “Good morning Tommy,” my mom said before I could greet her. A split moment later my dad was on their other phone adding his own “good morning.”
“Mom beat you again Dad,” I said as an opening with a slight laugh. I knew Mom was sitting in the kitchen close to the phone, while Dad was in their bedroom lying on the bed. This was a Sunday morning routine: calling my parents a little before nine o’clock.
It was the mid-1970s and my mom and dad were retirees living the cliché in Florida: a condominium in a suburb of Orlando, going to early-bird specials, and, most importantly, being near their three granddaughters.
After a seven year stint in the Navy, I was now living on Long Island and working for the Social Security Administration. I was recently transferred from the Brooklyn district office to the office in Freeport, my home town. I was now able to walk to work, instead of commuting by the Long Island Railroad and subway. This saved me a lot of money and over an hour’s travel time each way.
As usual I let my mom and dad tell me the news from Florida. Their reports always included my sister with the three grandkids, and my other younger sister who was still living with them. This week’s family gossip was typical, including many stories about my nieces.
When it was my turn to give my news, I relayed to them that since I had an extra hour in the morning before work, I decided to use it to exercise. I bought a bike at Sears and started riding it around the neighborhood early each morning. It was almost seven years since I had a bike, and I was very proud of this new endeavor.
I continued by boasting, “And yesterday, on my day off, I rode my bike to Uncle Manny and Aunt Marie’s.” My aunt and uncle lived in Oceanside, about four miles away from my apartment.
“Oh, Tommy! You rode your bike across Merrick Road!” my mom exclaimed, breaking into my dashing tale of riding a bike four miles. Merrick Road is a heavily traveled roadway on Long Island, and Mom was right – I did ride my bike across it. “Tommy, you must walk your bike when crossing Merrick,” she said earnestly.
“But Mom, I’m an adult! I’ve been in the Navy! I was a flight officer, flying thousands of hours! I’ve even been to war!” I implored. I wanted to prove to my mom that I was responsible enough to safely ride my bike across Merrick Road.
Mom was not having any of my pleading. “I don’t care Tommy. Promise me you’ll walk across Merrick Road,” Mom said with more than a hint of distress.
I knew I was beaten, so I capitulated. “Okay Mom, I promise I’ll walk my bike across Merrick Road.” I though I heard my dad chuckle; but it was cut short. He must have covered the receiver.
“Not just Merrick Road. But Sunrise Highway and all big roads too,” Mom added.
“Okay Mom, I promise,” I said dejectedly.
We were soon saying our goodbyes, but Mom added, “Remember your promise!” before hanging up.
The next Saturday as I walked my bicycle across Merrick Road, I realized that even though I was an adult, a Navy veteran, and a Vietnam War veteran; I was most of all – a Mommy’s Boy!