...a very mobbed-up restaurant where we always got a prime table...
I cannot remember a single Mother’s Day. I recall Christmases. New Year’s Eves. Birthdays, weddings, funerals, parties. A few fires, one in our house. One epic Easter Sunday driving through an ice storm to, and from, the old Alps restaurant in Jersey City. But not one Mother’s Day.
I do recall that we always went out to dinner on Mother’s Day, taking along my maternal grandmother. Often we went to Don’s 21 in Newark, a very mobbed-up restaurant where we always got a prime table, great service and comped desserts because my Dad knew the owner from way back in their younger “associate” days. But of the actual holidays, I have not a single memory.
The two pictures accompanying this story were taken on Mother’s Day, 1975. One was shot inside of Don’s 21. I’m pretty sure that Mom is holding a whiskey sour; not sure what my grandmother was drinking. I also notice that Mom has her next drink cued up and ready. The other was taken on our block in Bayonne before we left for the restaurant. I actually remember that suit. And having that much hair. The guy on the left in the amazing pants is my (recently deceased) brother Steven.
But any recollection of this day, like all the other Mother’s Days, has faded away into darkness.
Dave VentreA hyper-annuated wannabee scientist with a lovely wife and a mountain biking problem.
The important thing was that you and your family celebrated your mother and grandmother. I’m sure they appreciated that. You’ve shared the traumas of your earlier life with us, so I’m sure you’ve blocked some of this out; perhaps seeing that whiskey sour reinforced the drinking and you want to put that behind you.
Mother’s Day is, in many ways, an invented holiday, like Valentine’s Day, made up by Hallmark, to sell cards. Mothers would like to be appreciated every day. Not all of us had wonderful relationships with our mothers, but we can look for the goodness and focus on that aspect. I try to do that as I think back on my mother.
I just noticed that Mom already had her next drink on the table in front of her! She was nothing if not efficient.
Dave, this story is so well crafted, and as in all good writing one can read between the lines.
Often adults looking back wish their relationships with their parents had been different, more loving, less contentious. But it may be some consolation to remember that as parents they may have done the best they could.
I am sure that they did. Both had their own demons. Mom had an entire pantheon of them.
Sorry about losing your brother—but those are indeed remarkable pants. And the pictures of your mom very evocative of the times. I can’t remember a Mother’s Day either—my mom always pooh-poohed it, saying it was invented by Hallmark. That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t notice if we didn’t make some effort to acknowledge her. Sally always remembers Mother’s Day because her own mom died on that day (long-expected, but still). As we know, it’s not always hearts and flowers, though not bad to have a reminder to think back and honor the parents they tried to be.
You actually remember more than you think, Dave. The photos are priceless. So sorry about your brother.
Dave, I used to love going to Don’s 21 with my parents when I was young. We may have even gone there on Mother’s Day. Maybe you and I were there at the same time! I was going to tell you to read my 2018 story about Don’s, “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant,” but I see that you did read and comment on it in 2022.
Dave, have no clue why you haven’t one memory of Mother’s Day, but your mom definitely loved it. Her face says it all, would love to share a drink with her. She’s so happy. How cool to have that picture of you & your bro, and the beautiful head of hair . Don’s 21 was exactly 6:7 miles from my childhood home in Forest Hill section of Newark. Love this story, thanks for sharing.
You definitely had me at the “comped desserts.” I would have killed as a young person for that–or been willing to consort with mobsters.
Thanks for this keen and well crafted if not entirely pleasurable reminiscence.