Are you my mother?

by Nic Olson

Remember that children’s book with that title? Basically, I think it was a little baby chicken, a chick, that went around asking dogs, cats, cows, and ducks if they were his mother, because he didn’t know who his mother was. What an idiot. If the chick didn’t even know that its mother would’ve been a chicken, not much of a son or daughter it would be. If my baby didn’t know that I was its father and went around asking other guys, ducks or cows if they were his father, I’d disown him in a second. No stupid babies in the Olson Family.

Anyway, the reason I thought of this is because everywhere I go this kind of idea pops up. I obviously know who my mother is; she is the 3rd greatest lady in the history of the world, right behind Esther and that lady that invented Cheez Whiz.

Everywhere I go I get asked if Ellen is my mother, or if Ray or Bob is my father. Explaining that they are just friends, it might be easier just to say, “Yeah, I’ve got 3 dads and 2 moms, beat that.” Being the only 4 white people they have ever seen, I understand why they think we might be related, because we are the only 4 white people in the world, obviously.

Through my trips to town I have found a small sports shop where I have befriended an older lady that works there. She sits there every day, chews the beetlenut, and sells soccer balls. So far I have visited her 3 times, and a few of those times I have sat and talked with her for a while. The last time I was there I got another soccer ball for 200rupees, which she tells me is a great deal. She told me that she gave me these deals because I was one of her sons. I didn’t really know what to say, so I said, something along the lines of, “Haha, yes! Good! uhhaha! I’m an awkward white man.”, bought the ball and headed out. By the way, she’s a pretty cool lady. I’ll get a photo someday.

So, a shout out to all the mothers and fathers out there; Keep putting up with jerks like me and everything will be alright.