A Song for Mama

“The whole motivation for any performer is, ‘Look at me, Ma!’” – Lenny Bruce

I will not canonize her my mother as a saint – she is not, and she’d be the first to tell you. The truth of the matter is that my mother is an incredibly unique person with a very interesting life.

My mother, Jackie Slutske, was named after her uncle who died in World War II before she was born, much to the insistence of her uncle’s mother. She was one of the youngest of a numerous amounts of cousins, the first born after her large extended family moved to California. Her father, my grandfather, was still working in New York, and received a telegram regarding her birth: “Hi daddy! I’m here!”

She grew into a beautiful woman, with long black hair and a mod attitude. She was smart, but had it tough: Her parents saved all their money to send her older brother to medical school, so my mother had to pay her way to attend UCLA. Eventually, due to the sadness of being all alone in Los Angeles while all her high school friends were in Berkeley, she flunked out of school. I only found this out several months ago, to my great shock – my mother was a perfect student throughout graduate school and any other classes she took. Even the best of us fail sometimes.

After plenty of dating (and numerous visits to the Wilshire Theater to see "The Sound of Music"), at the age 21, she met and then married my father, Bob, who she has been with ever since. She kept her individuality by designing her own mini wedding dress. My mother had to develop patience with my father, who was trying to break into the theater business and who moved her to Hawaii and New York. Eventually, they came back to Southern California, and bought a house in North Hollywood.

My mother had a difficult time getting pregnant, so eventually she and my dad got two dogs – Spirit and Goblin, and they became their children. Around this time, my dad was undergoing his first hip replacement surgery, and my mother was quite afraid and upset that if, G-d forbid anything happened to my dad, that she didn’t have any children. But then she realized that it was best, as she had to spend a lot of time aiding in my father’s recovery afterwards. “Can you imagine if I had to take care of a little kid?” my mother would ask me years later. This was her way of imparting the wisdom to me that G-d has a plan – believe it or not, he/she does.

Eventually, my mother had my sister, and then me. From even before my birth, I was a handful – I was 10 pounds, 11 ounces when I was born, not to mention two feet long, so imagine my poor mother carrying me around in her belly. I was very sick as a child, with constant ear infections. Then came the fact that I couldn’t talk.

When I had to do a narrative article for my advanced magazine class, I used my mother, as she was one of the only ones that would fit with the format. I recorded her story and listened to her recount the horrors she faced with me: a doctor telling her to “stop being such a Jewish mother,” a lady at an institution insisting I was schizophrenic and telling her to check me immediately, and the constant fight she faced from many different people. Speech pathologists worked hard for years to get me to speak, but my mother fought even harder. Even at that young age, my mother was teaching me that the most important thing to do during hard times was to fight back and get over your fear. These traits became stronger when I was older, but I realize now that she was the one who taught me to be fearless as I went through life.

Throughout my childhood, my mother taught me, and often would bring me into the kitchen. I remember her making challah every Friday for Shabbat, and her teaching me how to make pasta and beat an egg. I would often help make the salads. We often interacted in making food for the family meal. I learned a lot about food from her. She was my main cooking teacher, so for those who have eaten my food, you should thank her.

My mother, around this time, also taught me about survival: Around the age of eight, my father lost his job in Northern California. We weren’t poor, but we weren’t doing very well. I found out only later that we almost lost our house up there, saved only by my grandparents, who helped with the payments. She eventually became the computer teacher at my elementary school in order to help pay the bills. But she always tried to better herself and keep herself moving forward, including going to a school to become a paralegal.

We moved back to Southern California, and my mother was as involved as ever. In my teenage years, this meant getting into treatment for my ADD and supposed mania. This was probably not mom’s strongest showing – the doctor I ended up with did not do right by me in so many ways. But she tried, and she wanted to help. My mother and I had many disagreements during these years. My father would always say that we butted heads so much because we were so much alike. I didn’t believe it – until I got much older.

She also worked at the Shoah Foundation, and she faced many different demons as she explored and worked on testimonies from different people regarding their Holocaust experiences. My mother somehow did it all and made dinner for us. She faced horrors throughout those years – the horrors of the Holocaust and the horrors of facing an out-of-control adolescent who she didn’t know how she could help (just as an FYI, that was me).

Eventually, as with most adolescents, I grew out of that terrible phase and it was time to break away. I left the nest and headed out, and I found that my relationship with her improved dramatically once I started exploring the world. I guess some people just aren’t meant to live together for that long.

I watched as my mother faced tremendous struggles even as I left the house, including caring for her ailing parents. Nothing was more difficult than watching her face their deaths all while trying to make them as comfortable as they could be. She did a lot of this by herself, as her brother was always too busy. The fight that my mother had in her, the determination to do what was right despite the fact that it was one of the hardest things to do. Yet, she still had a sense of humor: “Reina, when it’s my time to go, just send me and Lucy out on an iceberg with a tuna fish sandwich. But you have to make the tuna.”

She could have tried to let someone else handle it, but she felt the obligation. It was one she felt as a child – she would tell me stories of having to stay home sick, and her mother would wrap her up in a blanket and drive her and her ailing grandmother to the free clinic to wait for the doctor to see Grandma Luna. She took the lessons she learned as a young child and applied them to her life and how she lived it.

Recently, she finally decided that it was time to take care of herself. After years of looking after me, my sister, my father, her parents and everyone else, she is getting into shape and figuring out how to remain healthy for many years. She is now keeping a blog of her own – the Frog Blog, actually – and hopefully she will find life-long habits to follow.

Although I now live far away, my mother is a constant source of advice and support. It meant the world to me Thursday night when she came down to the JCC to watch me teach my class. She makes me realize how far I’ve come down my road. She had that sparkle in her eye as the people around me acknowledged me and appreciated what I was doing.

But the truth of the matter is that my mother inspired me to become the woman I am today, complete with the strength to go forward and the determination to never give up no matter how difficult people may make it for us. She taught me obligation to family and making sure that I had a commitment to it. But above all, she and my father both taught me to be true to myself. I told her the other night that I was reminded of it because she gave a speech when she was the membership director at our temple growing up, and she quoted Musafa from “The Lion King.” I remember people laughing when she said she was quoting that movie, but becoming silent when she said the quote, “Remember who you are.”

We had an interesting ride, and it’s one that will continue for quite a while. But I hope that my mother understands how much I love her, despite the craziness, despite the difficulties and the fights we had. I am so proud to be her daughter, and happy when she comes to visit and I get to introduce her to all the different people I know.

So, in tribute to my mother, I am giving her this song that she loves. I hope it will say all the things that I can’t. Happy Mother’s Day.