My mother was one of the most powerful forces in my life. Irene Kuhl could snap me to attention from a deep slumber.
First came the command, such as, “Don, take out the garbage right now,” or “Don, you better apologize to Father Ryan for missing his religion class yesterday.” That’s all Irene needed to say, but she always followed through with the clincher: “And I don’t mean maybe.”
I think of myself as a fast learner, so last week, about 65 years after receiving my mother’s indelible words, I thought I should use them to my advantage.
I considered trying “I don’t mean maybe” with my creative staff after requesting that they make a minor edit. After further thought, I was convinced they would just look at each other and then have a collective giggle.
How about sticking it to my son at a special moment over the phone? No, that opportunity has long left the station.
I decided it had to be used with Sherry. During gin rummy games, she fails to shuffle the cards to my standards. So I said, “Sherry, shuffle the cards so all the kings aren’t stuck together.” I wanted to follow up with an “I don’t mean maybe.” I stifled the impulse and added, “Honey, do you want some cashews?”
The wisdom that comes with aging is a beautiful thing. And I don’t mean maybe.