Ma Carter

Woman pushing a child in a stroller past my house an hour
ago, to the kid: “What colour is that car?”

THAT HALO EFFECT: Swear to God it’s  coincidence

Little person in stroller: “Blue.”

Pusher: “Right. What colour is Grandad’s car?”

Kid: “Brown.”

Woman: “Brown? No. Grandad’s
car is grey!”

I’m not sure how old that child was, but being in a stroller
gives you some indication. What I am certain of is that the mom was not a
Carter mother. 

I know because I had one. Her name was Huena.

If one of her 10 kids said a vehicle was grey, the vehicle
was grey.  

Which reminds me. My friend
Charlene Hodgson told me once that if you say, “I’ll go get the vehicle,” it
meant you were from the country but if you say, “I’ll go get the car [or van]”
you were citified. I’m a “I’ll go get the vehicle” guy. And I live downtown Toronto. This is so
confusing. And these are the concerns
that keep me awake at night. But I
digress.

Back to my mom. Huena’s
kids (or grandkids) could neither say nor do anything wrong.

I have no idea what that did to us — developmentally speaking — and
I don’t care. The point is, she saw her
family as we were: As flawless as the Virgin Mary.

Even when it appeared otherwise, Huena held tight to her
beliefs.

If a Carter (or by extension, MacIsaac, mom’s maiden name so
it included nephews and nieces and whoever else she said) got caught say, knocking
on people’s doors and running away (nicky nicky nine doors we called it), and
the p-o’d homeowner called our house, Huena accused the
curmudgeonly neighbour of not having enough to worry about.

Or say, for instance, one of us had a scrape with the law.

She knew immediately that the cop who showed up at the house
(while the family was on our knees saying 
the rosary if you can imagine), the judge, maybe even the lawyer my dad
paid and who was until that moment a family friend and fellow parishioner at our
church, were crooks, the lot of them.

Not that it ever happened.

Huena’s kids, nephews, nieces and the rest of her extended
family, were incapable of sinning.

In Huenaville trouble arrived in one of two guises: Bad company
and envy.

If one hers got in trouble, it was because he or she fell in
with bad company.

And if somebody bullied us, they did it because they were
jealous.

I remember a big kid named Gary teased me once when I said I
was going home from school because I was feeling sick and he said, “Aww poor
Carter. I bet your daddy’s going to
bring you ginger ale and ice cream.” (My father Tom knew Canada Dry Ginger Ale
cured everything. And I have no clue how Gary had that intel, but never mind that.)

I told Huena about Gary and she said: “He’s just jealous.”

Scientific fact that my kids know: Mean people who pick on
you do so because they’re jealous.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think my mom was perfect. You
might be surprised to know Huena lied quite a bit. Especially at supper time.

Exhibit a: My chest. Nothing I ate put hair on it.

Other than that, Huena was as flawless as her kids.

My next blog? Why I’ve
always sided with The Black Donnellys.