Read Dating Your Mom Online

Authors: Ian Frazier

Dating Your Mom (3 page)

Quarterback: 6'4” , 185-lb. senior Sandy Frazier led St. Joe's Vikings to their second straight all-city championship, amassing 1,593 yards in the air with an 87% completion ratio. Set state mark for rushing by a quarterback with 830 yards for the season.
Fullback: Stow junior Sandy Frazier (6'5”, 217 lbs.) broke all rushing records set at Stow in 1962 by star alum Larry Csonka. Frazier is tremendously quick for a big man.
Running Back: Suspended early in the season for disciplinary reasons, Akron North's Sandy Frazier came back in the final three games to beat Hoban, Buchtel, and Firestone with his spectacular catches
and kickoff returns. He runs the hundred in 9.4, an excellent time for a man his size.
Wide Receiver: Sandy Frazier of John F. Kennedy caught 45 passes for touchdowns this season. Team captain in his sophomore year, he will make the Fighting Eagles squad of 17 returning lettermen a power in the '78 city championships.
Wide Receiver: The Lancers cruised to the Greater Cleveland Private School title behind the receiving and open-field blocking of 6'5”, 195-lb. junior end Ian “Sandy” Frazier. For a man of his size, he possesses outstanding quickness and agility.
Tight End: Canton Timken relied on their big junior tight end Sandy Frazier for his blocking on traps and sweeps, as well as for his pass-catching abilities. His quickness is amazing, considering his height and weight (6'7”, 223 lbs.).
Tackle: Massillon's Washington High has produced more pro tackles than any other high school in the country, and 6'8”, 260-lb. junior Sandy Frazier is well on his way to joining that list. He moves with great agility for a tackle that large.
Tackle: University School's four-year letterman and team captain Sandy Frazier displays surprising quickness, despite his 6'2”, 230-lb. frame.
Guard: Ian (Sandy) Frazier of Warren G. Harding really made the Panthers' ground game roll. The 6'3”, 215-lb. senior is an excellent pulling guard, with his 9.8 speed.
Guard: Elyria Catholic senior Sandy Frazier, at 6'4” and 240 lbs., is a lineman who can do it all. He has great mobility for a big man.
Center: St. Ignatius sophomore Sandy Frazier, at 5'11”, 212 lbs., was the dependable keystone of the Maize and Blue offense this year, which ranked third in total yardage in the state prep totals.
Deep Safety: John Adams coach Paul Feldermacher calls 5'9”, 165-lb. junior defensive back Sandy Frazier “pound for pound the best player I have ever coached.” He wins the Dream-Team Headhunter Award for most tackles this season.
Deep Safety: 5'11”, 175-lb. senior Sandy Frazier of Glenville won the East Cleveland Thanksgiving Turkey Day Game with his 85-yard runback of an interception in the final seconds.
Free Safety: A player skilled at reading defenses who also loves to hit people, Kent Roosevelt junior Sandy Frazier was the headache of running backs throughout the greater Akron area, with his 6'7”, 210-lb. build coupled with his excellent speed.
Outside Linebacker: Sandy Frazier of Cuyahoga Falls, a 6'3”, 210-lb. junior, led the Suburban League in tackles per game. He is as fast and nimble as a man half his size.
Outside Linebacker: Kenston High's junior defender Sandy Frazier (6'4”, 215 lbs.) played with reckless abandon in the Class AA Divisional Championship, blocking three punts. Even though he is huge, he is also swift.
Middle Linebacker: A narrow choice in the Dream Team voting over Walsh Jesuit's outstanding MLB Sandy Frazier, Akron Garfield senior captain Sandy
Frazier won out because even though he clocks a speedy 4.2 in the 40-yard dash, he is still extremely large (6'2”, 210 lbs.).
End: Bay Village High senior DE Ian “Sandy” Frazier, at 6'6”, 231 lbs., has the catlike quickness which makes him a really tough defender, when you consider how big he is.
End: Mogadore owes most of its 6–3 won-lost record to sophomore defensive end Sandy Frazier, who intimidated blockers with his agility, which was outstanding when operating in concert with his 6'5”, 223-lb. body.
Tackle: Ian “Sandy” Frazier of Hawken School is a player who you would think would move slow off the ball when you realized that he weighs in at 6'8”, 240 lbs., but that was not the case, as many prep-league opponents can attest.
Tackle: Cleveland Heights junior standout Sandy Frazier (6'3”, 219 lbs.) made game-saving tackles three times in goal-line stands when the Heights Tigers shut out the mighty Blue Bombers of Cleveland East. He is very large, in addition to being very fast.
Middle Guard: Akron East junior Sandy Frazier was the mainstay of East's defense, which allowed only 24 points all season. For a man of his quickness and agility, he possesses tremendous size.
In today's fast-moving, transient, rootless society, where people meet and make love and part without ever really touching, the relationship every guy already has with his own mother is too valuable to ignore. Here is a grown, experienced, loving woman—one you do not have to go to a party or a singles bar to meet, one you do not have to go to great lengths to get to know. There are hundreds of times when you and your mother are thrown together naturally, without the tension that usually accompanies courtship—just the two of you, alone. All you need is a little presence of mind to take advantage of these situations. Say your mom is driving you downtown in the car to buy you a new pair of slacks. First, find a nice station on the car radio, one that she likes. Get into the
pleasant lull of freeway driving—tires humming along the pavement, air-conditioner on max. Then turn to look at her across the front seat and say something like, “You know, you've really kept your shape, Mom, and don't think I haven't noticed.” Or suppose she comes into your room to bring you some clean socks. Take her by the wrist, pull her close, and say, “Mom, you're the most fascinating woman I've ever met.” Probably she'll tell you to cut out the foolishness, but I can guarantee you one thing: she will never tell your dad. Possibly she would find it hard to say, “Dear, Piper just made a pass at me,” or possibly she is secretly flattered, but, whatever the reason, she will keep it to herself until the day comes when she is no longer ashamed to tell the world of your love.
Dating your mother seriously might seem difficult at first, but once you try it I'll bet you'll be surprised at how easy it is. Facing up to your intention is the main thing: you have to want it bad enough. One problem is that lots of people get hung up on feelings of guilt about their dad. They think, Oh, here's this kindly old guy who taught me how to hunt and whittle and dynamite fish—I can't let him go on into his twilight years alone. Well, there are two reasons you can dismiss those thoughts from your mind. First,
every
woman, I don't care who she is, prefers her son to her husband. That is a simple fact; ask any woman who has a son, and she'll admit it. And why shouldn't she prefer someone who is so much like herself, who represents nine months of special concern and love and intense physical closeness—someone whom she actually created? As more women begin to express the need to have something all their own in the world, more
women are going to start being honest about this preference. When you and your mom begin going together, you will simply become part of a natural and inevitable historical trend.
Second, you must remember this about your dad: you have your mother, he has his! Let him go put the moves on his own mother and stop messing with yours. If his mother is dead or too old to be much fun anymore, that's not your fault, is it? It's not your fault that he didn't realize his mom for the woman she was, before it was too late. Probably he's going to try a lot of emotional blackmail on you just because you had a good idea and he never did. Don't buy it. Comfort yourself with the thought that your dad belongs to the last generation of guys who will let their moms slip away from them like that.
Once your dad is out of the picture—once he has taken up fly-tying, joined the Single Again Club, moved to Russia, whatever—and your mom has been wooed and won, if you're anything like me you're going to start having so much fun that the good times you had with your mother when you were little will seem tame by comparison. For a while, Mom and I went along living a contented, quiet life, just happy to be with each other. But after several months we started getting into some different things, like the big motorized stroller. The thrill I felt the first time Mom steered me down the street! On the tray, in addition to my Big Jim doll and the wire with the colored wooden beads, I have my desk blotter, my typewriter, an in-out basket, and my name plate. I get a lot of work done, plus I get a great chance to people-watch. Then there's my big, adult-sized highchair, where I sit in the
evening as Mom and I watch the news and discuss current events, while I paddle in my food and throw my dishes on the floor. When Mom reaches to wipe off my chin and I take her hand, and we fall to the floor in a heap—me, Mom, highchair, and all—well, those are the best times, those are the very best times.
It is true that occasionally I find myself longing for even more—for things I know I cannot have, like the feel of a firm, strong, gentle hand at the small of my back lifting me out of bed into the air, or someone who could walk me around and burp me after I've watched all the bowl games and had about nine beers. Ideally, I would like a mom about nineteen or twenty feet tall, and although I considered for a while asking my mom to start working out with weights and drinking Nutrament, I finally figured, Why put her through it? After all, she is not only my woman, she is my best friend. I have to take her as she is, and the way she is is plenty good enough for me.
Over the years, it has been the custom of literary critics to regard Niven as a lonely monument, self-created —almost as much a fiction as one of his own characters, magnificent in the uniqueness of his achievement. While I realize that this is doctrine from which one of our number strays at his peril, I have always believed that such a view of the man and his work removes Niven from his historical context and neglects consideration of the author as a product of the turbulent intellectual climate of his time. One must remember that it was during Niven's age that Hope also wrote. Although Hope had produced most of his oeuvre (including the major works,
Have Tux, Will Travel, So This Is Peace,
and his masterpiece,
I Owe Russia $I
,200) a number of years before Niven wrote
The Moon's a Balloon,
he was still alive in the full noon of Niven's day, and they may even have known each other. We should remember, too, that it was about this time that MacLaine produced her
Don't Fall Off the Mountain
, Arnaz his
A Book
, and Boone his
Twixt Twelve and Twenty.
And what of Davis, Jr.? His
Yes I Can
, which predates Niven's
Balloon
, has a clean, architectonic style reminiscent of Nivenian prose. Indeed, is it mere coincidence that Davis, Jr.'s work even contains some of the same characters that we find in both
Balloon
and
Bring on the Empty Horses?
The only author to whom critics might concede some legitimate claim to Niven's spiritual paternity is Sam Levenson, and even here I feel they have always missed an important point; namely, that the title of one of Levenson's finest works,
In One Era and Out the Other
, with its punning play on the word “era” (and its nicely coupled sense of words going in one
ear
and out the other, from the popular expression, much as ideas that are “in” to members of one generation, or era, may be “out”—i.e., not only unfashionable but also out of mind—to the members of another) may well have provided Niven with the inspiration for similar assonantal play with whimsy and daring internal rhyme in the brilliant title of his first masterpiece.
It is unfortunate that critics have all too often lost sight of the fact that David Niven's works are, above all, stories, full of fun and adventure, depicted by an artist who knew enough not to spare the bold strokes. I wonder how many scholars lost in Nivenolatry can remember their joy at first meeting the roistering Errol Flynn, the puckish David Selznick, or the magisterial Louis B. Mayer. I sometimes wish that I could
will myself into forgetting his marvelous scene with Mrs. Nikita Khrushchev and Frank Sinatra at the welcoming banquet, so that I could once more taste the delight of reading it for the first time.
Niven experiences life as an imprisoning reality of personal experience, plus mythopoeic elements, a vast
sottisier
in the tradition of Jessel's
This Way, Miss.
In a time when many writers have designs on recondite allusions, his works are a valued presence. Behind the intelligence, etc., is an attitude best summarized.
I knew first that you have to have faith you're going to get the cards when you aren't getting the cards, and second that when you do get the cards you have to
bet it up.
Plus I figured it works for him, it'll work for you, so I just went out and copied him, got the exact same technique, the exact same timing—everything. I practically traced him. This wouldn't have worked any other day, either, wouldn't have worked any other time, but you know the way the road gets kind of wide there by Herrick Park where they made the turnaround for the road-grading equipment—well, I figured that at this time of day, with the tide being twenty minutes later on the Gulf side, there would still be just enough water to float us over but not enough for those big federal boats, and with the sun just hitting
the horizon they're going to have the light right in their eyes when we go over. They had signals that they shouted, and suddenly I realized after I'd heard it for the fourth time that they were calling an audible, where Bev and Marsha aren't both going to be able to ride home with Roy and you remember how much Marsha has always wanted to go to the Tennessee Tap but Roy would never let her, so I said, “I've got to stop to the Tap for a minute but then I'll run you on home,” and of course she bit. Another thing that didn't hurt at all was the fact that a lot of these people came from really poor backgrounds and didn't have even one-tenth the advantages I had—their mothers feeding them Nugrape instead of formula and vitamins and not knowing anything about nutrition probably knocked their college-board scores down a hundred points right there. So that made it easy—all I had to do was copy it all down on my ankle and then razor the chapter out of every book in the library. It was beautiful. It was really beautiful. I noticed that the birds always seemed to go up right after we'd broken our guns to climb a fence, so when we got to a part of the field where it looked good I broke my gun without ejecting the shell and then closed it quietly and stood there ready, and sure enough after about fifteen seconds I'm positive she's going to walk away without saying anything but then she turns to me and looks at me for a long time and then she hands me a paper plate with her telephone number written on it. Luckily, when I took my license out of my breast pocket the highway patrolman wasn't looking and I was able to palm the cannister and instead of trying to chuck it away I just held it in my hand and although they
searched everywhere I knew the man was a new man and he still wasn't comfortable acting so hard and letting his position keep him from everybody else so I offered him a piece of chewing gum and we got to talking and suddenly I realized that their entire left flank was up in the air! It wasn't up against a mountain or river or anything and there was no cavalry to protect it so I went out and bought an entire new suit and a new pair of shoes and got a fake ID made up and then all I needed was an official insignia for the ID and then it came to me: a model-car kit would have decals in it about the right size so I bought one and it fit perfectly and as I was standing there I said to myself, “Oh, God, they know I'm lying, they know I'm a fake,” and then the lady comes up to me and says, “Your table is ready now, Mr. Selznick,” and I felt so great. The grayout from the force of the Gs began to fade and my vision returned and I saw maybe four thousand feet below me two of the A-37 strike force that had come out with us barreling along back to the base with their afterburners going and then it hit me
—A-37s don't have afterburners!
And that's when I realized that they were MIGs, so I walked over to them and said, “Miss—or Mrs., as the case may be—would you care to dance with me?” and that was when I knew that I totally had them.

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