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Throwback Thursday: Northeastern Pennsylvania Timing Association donates to Wyoming Valley Hospital in 1957

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State Sen. John Yudichak rips Gov. Tom Wolf, legislature over budget impasse

<p>As the men-folk sat down to dinner last night, ready to spear a quarter of a cow each, and I was eating my potato, I realized I didn&#8217;t place their must-have meat condiment on the table: the omnipresent A.1. Steak Sauce. Apparently, no slab of protein is complete without this mystery blend of ugh at the Heck dinner table.</p><p>&#8220;Oops! Forgot the magic sauce,&#8221; I said, as I jumped up to grab it.</p><p>My younger son:&#8221;Come ON, lady! You&#8217;re better than that!&#8221;</p><p>I stared.</p><p>&#8220;What? Dad says that to you all the time!&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;You know you shouldn&#8217;t repeat anything your father says except, &#8220;Mom is awesome.&#8221;</p><p>Epiphany: these kids grow up to parrot every, freaking thing we say. It&#8217;s almost beyond their control! It&#8217;s like brainwashing. If they hear me say: &#8221; The world is your oyster! Don&#8217;t screw it up!&#8221; or &#8220;You play with the bull, you get the horns&#8221; enough times, sure as I&#8217;m sitting here eating Poppycock, they will ultimately repeat it. But of course, I blame their father.</p><p>My daughter is a nurse in Baltimore. She has a long drive to and from work so she uses that time to call me on her hands-free device. Usually we talk about nothing, sometimes we discuss emergent topics, like my irritable bowel. During every conversation, she will bellow : &#8220;Come on buddy! Didn&#8217;t you ever learn that the left lane means passing?!&#8221;</p><p>I&#8217;m always stunned, and I jump a little, because this speech pattern is not my daughter&#8217;s usual cadence.</p><p>I will then continue my conversation, and in the middle of my diatribe on intestinal cramping, I hold the phone away from my ear because she&#8217;s once again barking: &#8220;The right pedal is the gas! The left is the brake! For God&#8217;s sake, man! Go back to driver&#8217;s ed!&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;Honey&#8221;, I chastise. &#8220;What is happening to you? When did road rage replace your brother-rage? I don&#8217;t like it! You sound just like &#8230; like &#8230;. your father!&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;Well, this is what he modeled for me, so it&#8217;s not my fault if I repeat it.&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;You&#8217;re an adult! You don&#8217;t need to emulate your father! You&#8217;d be much better off emulating your mother!&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;Oh please, Mom. We all repeat plenty of your quirks, don&#8217;t you worry.&#8221;</p><p>She was right; they all mock copy my Maria-isms. They constantly use the hand gesture that symbolizes talking as they reprimand: &#8221; You&#8217;re doing a lot of this, Maria. And we need you to do more of this!&#8221; And they clamp their hand shut. You know, the exact body language I used to encourage quiet during times of concentration, like during my mustache wax?</p><p>Well, karma, baby.</p><p>And recently, while we were watching a movie, my son shushed me. He told me we were playing &#8220;the quiet game.&#8221; Well that sounded familiar. I sputtered. His exact response was: &#8220;Use your words, Mom. God gave you diction for a reason.&#8221;</p><p>Huh. That did sound like me. What have I done? I don&#8217;t care. I still blame their father.</p><p>Two weeks ago I introduced my younger son to an acquaintance I hadn&#8217;t seen in awhile. Unprompted, he shook the man&#8217;s hand and said,&#8221; How are you, sir? Good to meet you.&#8221; And then went on to make polite and innocuous small talk to this stranger. He behaved better than me.</p><p>Well. Sometimes it turns out all right. Sometimes, something good sticks. Sometimes, what we model turns out to be OK.</p><p>I was proud of him.</p><p>I blame their father.</p><style>
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<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck</p><p>Life Deconstructed</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck of West Pittston is a mother of three, a librarian and a business owner who lives to dissect the minutiae of life. Send Maria an email at mariajh40@msn.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Life Deconstructed: Comment, rinse and repeat