My mom never "got" me

My mother and I have next to nothing in common. I read all the time; she reads Redbook or Southern Living, maybe once a year. We don't have the same tastes, the same interests, the same sense of humor ... really, nothing in common.

She's never really understood my interest in writing, especially not my interests in fantasy. She thinks I'm goofy to have pet rabbits. She thinks it's weird that I dress in period clothing for Renaissance festivals. She still tends to think role playing games are "of the devil."

Don't get me wrong. We've had our differences, but I love my mother. And as much as she doesn't "get" me, there was one instance ...

I was fourteen years old. I had read The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings a couple of times, but I had always checked them out of a library. I had never owned copies of those books.

Usually my mom would ask me what I wanted for my birthday, because she never forgot my birthday. But that one year, the summer of 1984, she didn't ask me. I was a bit befuddled by this, but thought it would be interesting to wait it out and see what she would do.

So, I came home from school (which ran into mid June because of snow days the winter before). I walked into my room, and there on my desk was a brand new paperback collection of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings from Ballantine.

I was more than shocked. To this day I don't think my mom knows how much that meant to me. She's supposed to be on the Internet soon, so maybe she will see this.

I had those paperbacks until just a few years ago, and then they were worn out from readings and travel. I might still have that copy of The Hobbit around somewhere, but I've gotten a newer edition of the Lord of the Rings.

Mom, if you read this ... thanks. If you don't read this, I'll try and remember to thank you in person.