My Nicole’s dad died before Jim’s dad died. And before my Mom died.
What a shitty fucking May-June 2025 we had at work.
Nicole and I got to talking today about my next NYC trip. And how she got robbed on her last trip there.
Which was crazy because she grew up there. And her dad was NYPD.
She said she could just hear her dad being PISSED that she took a designer purse with a magnetic clasp. One that was easy for a pickpocket to open.
She said she could just see him giving her the stinkeye. And how, even though she’d heard The Talk a million times before to watch herself, she clearly needed it.
So she gave ME The Talk. Take the tiniest purse. Keep it in front of you. Use your phone as a credit card. Don’t give anybody an opening to steal from you.
I said wow. I haven’t had anyone give me The Talk in two years. How nice, actually, to have it.
I remembered rolling my eyes as Mom was giving me The Talk even in my late 40s. Be careful. Get home safe. Text me when you get there and when you leave. Text me along the way. Love you, baby.
Now, nobody cares when I leave the house. When I get there. IF I get there.
Even though I, too, know to wear my crossbody bag tight and not carry anything other than an ID and one card, I need to hear it.
It’s easy to think that since you’re invisible most of the time anyway, you’ll be invisible everywhere.
It’s not easy to remember all the times your momma told you to be safe — not because she didn’t think you’d be wise and on the ball — but because others may be MORE so.
Nicole struggles with her very spirited daughter who doesn’t understand she can’t do everything she wants to do.
And I said the same thing to her — it’s not that (daughter’s name) is untrustworthy. It’s that others who may be driving or drinking or otherwise making stupid choices are.
That’s what my family told me. It’s not that they were overprotective and wanting to steal my joy. They trusted me on the roads and at parties just fine. It’s everyone else, they worried about.
It’s funny how that shit doesn’t make sense when you’re 22. But at 52? Ohhh I GET it now.
I wish I had recordings of their words. I could really use them right now.
But now I’m the voice of reason nobody younger wants to hear.
Wild how that happens.
God I miss my family.