MARCH 11, 2021 – In her prime I didn’t appreciate Mother. She wasn’t afraid to try new things, meet new people, consider alternative ideas. As I myself struggled to conform to community standards, I found her unconventionality unbecoming. Take for instance the time members of the Minneapolis Symphony (now Minnesota Orchestra) staged a concert at the high school auditorium as part of the “Community Concerts” series. Mom took one of my sisters and me to the performance. Fine. But then Mom spoiled things by her frenetic applause. She got so carried away, the folks in the next row turned around for a look. I cringed, bent my blushing face toward my sister, and said, “Pretend we don’t know her.”
Imagine my surprise when a few days later Mom’s non-conformity showered me with vicarious praise. Noon recess had just begun, and as I headed toward my guy gang, I ran into Debbie Paulson, as she sauntered toward her girl gang. Debbie was one of the most popular kids in our class—she was smart, cute, outgoing, and nice toward everyone. She started up a conversation, and I happily engaged.
She mentioned the upcoming class play, which led her to say she’d attended the Anoka Community Theater production of Oklahoma! the previous summer. She raved about it.
“My mom was Aunt Eller,” I said.
“YOUR MOM WAS AUNT ELLER?!” Debbie said (in all caps—really!). Debbie’s eyes doubled in size, as her jaw dropped wide open, revealing incredibly straight, white teeth. “Wow! Was she ever great! I was amazed and so was my mom. Wow! So your mom was Aunt Eller? Huh! I’m . . . Wow! Am I ever impressed. I can’t wait to tell my mom!”
Here was one of the most likable kids in my class praising my whacky mom. In that moment I experienced something I’d never felt before: vicarious celebrity. I basked in ironic pride.
After that I was uncharacteristically nice to Mother—until the next symphony concert.
Recently, a close family friend uncovered a photo of Mother dressed up as Aunt Eller. The picture was taken off stage and revealed Mother’s youth–she was more than a quarter century younger than I am now.
As I studied the photo, I recalled . . . the moment over supper when Mother announced to the family that she was going to try out for the Aunt Eller role; the evening a few days later when all aglow, she announced she’d won the audition; the many long evenings she spent at rehearsal and the hours more she practiced her lines at home and sat at the piano accompanying herself between her pupils’ lessons.
Mother wore many hats in her long, productive life, but the act that brought the greatest joy—to her and the community—was on stage as Aunt Eller.
In the recent email with Mother’s photo, the family friend included an exchange between “Laurey” and “Aunt Eller.” It ended perfectly:
LAUREY: I wisht I was the way you are!
AUNT ELLER: Oh, fiddlesticks. Scrawny and old . . . why, you couldn’t hire me to be the way I am.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
