Cru Jones Society

Faithful readers of the Cru Jones Society: Mother’s Day is Sunday. You have five days to prepare to honor the special lady who made you into the person you are today: A person who embarrassed her at your college graduation party. Or, perhaps that was just CJS reader, Deuce and myself. Whatever the case, if your mom is around, if you love her, and if she deserves it, make sure to let her know this Sunday (and everyday for that matter, but especially Sunday).

My mom certainly does. So does Hart’s. Limon’s does too, but he’s a bit busy.

For this reason, we’re kicking off four days of Mom love here at the Cru Jones Society. Today’s topic: Having fun with the generation gap. Read on after the jump…

The generation gap between my parents and me is less pronounced than the generation gap between by my parents and their parents. I know this for certain. My parents’ parents didn’t understand rock ‘n roll, never had disposable income growing up, and didn’t go to college. According to my parents, they never related as peers to their parents once they entered adulthood. This makes me sad.

Since I have a terrific relationship with both my parents, I feel like they missed out. Having cool parents is one of the more pronounced benefits of contemporary society. I feel fortunate to be able to relate to them as peers and as friends (As much as you can be friends with your parents, anyway), since ultimately they’re cool people. And while they don’t understand some of my pop culture obsessions (Will Ferrell, Saved by the Bell, mixing Jagermeister with Red Bull), in general they can relate to almost everything I’m into. My dad loves Borat. My mom went to a punk rock show with me and still asks me about Yellowcard, whom we actually met at the show.

Despite these similarities, sometimes the generation gap between my mom and I blasts through like a lighthouse beacon through a thick fog. In my experience, these instances are more cute than anything – a playful reminder of our age discrepancy rather than a painful reminder of cultures clashing. She uses terms and phrases that I not only don’t use myself, but phrases that I can’t recall ever hearing anyone else use either.

Using HANGOVER as a noun vs. using HUNGOVER as an adjective is the prime example of this discrepancy.

Whenever I drink too much, my mom inevitably, improbably, and yet predictably calls me early the next day. As I shake the cobwebs and try to clear the disgustingness from my throat, my mom realizes I had more beers the previous night than I have fingers. This question invariably follows: “Do you have a hangover?”

This always jars me because no one else I know uses hangover in its noun form. Everyone always asks me, “Dude, you hungover?” They use the term as an adjective. Mom always asks me the question the same way a neighbor might ask, “Do you have a leafblower?”

Hungover is something you are whereas a hangover is something you have. She chooses to ask me the question in the way that implies ownership rather than attribute.

Is this weird to anyone else? Think back over your last few drunken or near-drunken nights, and the resultant morning. Did anyone ask you if you had a hangover? Didn’t the questions more closely resemble: “So, how hungover are you?“; “Having another hungover morning?”; or the always classic, “Hey, wanna get some hungover breakfast?”

I’ve never had a friend ask me if “I had a hangover.” And that makes me happy.

I know whenever I get asked that question that I’m talking with my mom, and only my mom. It’s something that’s uniquely ours and no one else’s. And that should be the essence of your relationship with your mom – quirks, idiosyncrasies, and inside jokes that only you know about. She doesn’t even know that she’s the only one who says hangover to me.

She does know that I think it’s funny when she asks me if I want to “go to the show,” which means “see a movie.” Or when she refers to her hairspray as “spray net.” Although, I’m happy she never adopted my grandma’s phrasing and referred to my childhood friends as my “boyfriends.” Imagine trying to grow up normal when your grandma refers to your elementary school pals Tommy, David and Brian as your “boyfriends.” It’s tough. I never really related to my grandmother after she started doing that.

Asking me if I want to “go to the show” and if I “have a hangover” is a charming way to share a moment with my mom. Asking me if I’m “going to see my boyfriends” when I’m ten years old is a good way to alienate your grandson.

My mom understands this. She’s never done anything to make me intentionally uncomfortable, she loves spending time with me, and she uses phrases that make me smile. This is a small part of why I love my mom. I’m willing to bet your mom says similar things. And I’ll bet you love her just as much for it. Make sure to let her know.

I’ll be back on Friday with another article, “The Places My Mom Took Me” and a fresh batch of Friday links (for real this time). In the mean time, I’m going to hand it off tomorrow to one of my boyfriends.

Until next time…

edagger@crujonessociety.com