Colin McEnroe vs. My Mom

I’m a huge fan of Colin McEnroe, radio talk show host, author, playwright, personality. Always have been – at least, since I first listened to his show in high school. Part of what endeared me to him was the fact that my mom hated him. I used to listen to his show when I was home from school during the day, and my mom would walk in and say:

“ugh. This guy. Turn him off.”

I’m not sure if it was because of his somewhat erudite diatribes about things that my mom never understood or even wanted to understand. Or maybe he did say something one day to spark my mom’s ire.

She thought he was smug. And maybe she wasn’t completely wrong.

My mom is a late-50s suburban Connecticut mom who stayed home with her three daughters and taught them all to sew and how to tend to a garden and who encouraged us to be respectful, taught us about traditions and the value of family. My mom did not repress us into domestic tranquility, but she also didn’t raise us to be hellions who won’t go gently into the good night.

My admiration of Colin McEnroe started in my teen rebellious phase, and then grew into a deeper appreciation for a writer who made his life doing what he loved. Besides all of this – the man is truly talented and he makes his way in life following his bliss – and maybe that can make a person come across as smug.

So it comes down to this: if I score tickets to the CT forum that he’s moderating, I may not mention it to her. It’s just easier than standing by and listening to my mom’s erudite diatribes about why he’s a jerk and why I should favor Ray Dunaway.