I am Not Who I Say I am

I am not who I am say I am…or rather my mother isn’t who she says she is. At least not last Monday. I now know where I get IT from. Those closest to me will know exactly what I mean when I say, “I just had IT a minute ago!” or “I can’t find my…[fill in the blank]!” I am notorious for losing things despite having them in my possession moments before. I’ve mastered the ability to lose things so well it’s become an art form for me. No one is surprised to see me dig through a bag for minutes on end looking for misplaced keys; wander around the apartment looking for shoes; search cabinets and counters for lost cups of coffee. I think that’s the real reason I don’t wear a watch.

But, here’s the thing. I now know where I get it from. I always had my suspicions it was a genetic thing – handed down from matriarch to daughter. Now I have the proof. This weekend my mother came to visit. Managed to get herself here by bus without an ID. Sweet talked the bus driver in little ole Maine, I’m sure. Somehow she got herself here without having to prove who she was to anyone. Her excuse? She left her ID in “the other bag.” My words exactly. I say that all the time. I could have been standing before her and admitting the same thing. We had a little laugh over the forgotten ID, added an eye roll and an “Oh mom!” and forgot all about it. Until Sunday night when mom asked, “Now, how do I buy a ticket back?” Ummmm….Errrr…Hmm. I don’t know.

We ended up doing the old bait and switch. I have never been one to be tied down to identity. A name doesn’t mean all that much in my view of the world. So when mom became me and I became nobody it was if I had been born to play the part. I handed the ticket to the driver. I got on the bus. And someone else drove away.