I can’t be happy about Columbus Day, despite the good sales. Columbus brings back a sore memory for me, which remains a point of contention between Mom and me some 19 years later.
It was December 1991, and the “Circa 1492: Art During the Age of Exploration” exhibit at the National Gallery of Art in D.C. was receiving excellent reviews, so Mom and I hopped in the car and headed up there. Per my norm, I slept the entire way – a habit of mine that many drivers haven’t appreciated over the years. (People can be so selfish!) The day we arrived, I think we went to bed approximately 6pm in order to be well rested for our museum visit the next day. This was necessary, as my mother is a type AAA personality and insisted that we be the first to arrive in the morning so we could contemplate the art without the bother of sharing our space with other people. (She is not what one would describe as an admirer of “the masses.”)
The morning of the big day, we rolled out of bed way too early for me. Being a sophomore in college on winter break, I thought this was an extreme form of torture. I’m sure I bitched about it, but this story is not about my character defects; I’d much rather talk about those of my mother. So anyway, she took me to Hardee’s for breakfast where she ate some sort of biscuit. Since I’d rather cut off an arm than chance a Hardee’s biscuit (I have a delicate stomach), I had nothing and insisted I was fine.
Fast forward to the part where I was forced to stand in line outside TWO HOURS before the museum doors opened. As I recall, I was 8th in line – which means that some people are even more hard-core crowd haters than Mom. Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part – D.C. was experiencing a record-breaking cold front; I nearly froze to death. When the doors finally opened, it felt wonderful to be inside the heated museum. In the first room was the piece I was most interested in seeing – Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man. I took one look at it and felt nauseous. I turned to Mom and told her I felt sick, then everything went dark. I woke up on a bench with a doctor tending to me and my mother proclaiming, “NO, we will NOT leave this museum! We drove all the way from Alabama to see this!” I was unable to respond but I could hear the conversation, with the doctor asking if I’d eaten and Mom screaming, “I TOLD HER TO EAT!!!” The museum guard told her the cafeteria didn’t open for another couple of hours, but she demanded to talk to someone else. Finally, a museum worker agreed to get me something to eat, and when I was able to walk we went down to the cafeteria and I ate and drank.
“I cannot believe you humiliated me like this. I TOLD you to eat something!” she lectured me. When we got back to the exhibit, it was so crowded we had to elbow our way back to the Vitruivan Man. I don’t think she has ever forgiven me. How selfish of me to ruin her experience! However, I can honestly say if the doctor hadn’t caught me when I fell, carried me to the bench, and began probing Mom for answers, I’m quite sure she would have just stepped over my crumpled body to view the exhibit and then come back to gather me later. (I’m not being ugly to my mother; she would most likely agree with this statement.)
So you can surely see why Columbus Day is a source of irritation for me. And if you can’t, perhaps you should check your history books, as 1492 is the year Columbus “discovered” the New World, thus the topic of the exhibit. (By the way, you probably shouldn’t play “Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader?”, as I don’t think it would work out for you.)
P.S. If you’re good, perhaps I’ll tell you about some of my other museum adventures with Mom, like when we ran down the halls of the Louvre screaming, “Ou est la toilette?!”, or when I set off the alarm at the Guggenheim in Venice, or when we got into a fight at the Shanghai Museum and I had to walk back to the hotel. Always a lovely time when we’re together!
Happy Shopping!
