Assigned Reading: Ann Coulter: Nell Husbands Martin Coulter
(FROM: Human Events)
My thoughts and prayers are with conservative writer Ann Coulter, as her mother passed away last week. Normally, this sort of thing wouldn’t be included in Assigned Reading, but I found myself touched by Ann’s column today. I certainly do not always agree with her, and I occasionally find her tone to be a little too ascerbic, but overall I like Ms. Coulter — but under no circumstances would I associate her with any of the, uh, softer emotions. Today, while she couldn’t resist getting a few jabs in at the Democrats, she proved me wrong, and she managed to strike a nerve.
At 30 years old, I am fortunate enough to have both of my parents alive and well, though my relationship with one of the two is currently in the sixth year of a state of flux. There was a blowup back in 2003 and an awkward rekindling of that blowup in 2004, on my wedding day of all days. Since then, when we have touched base, my mother and I have communicated through a series of letters and greeting cards. Recently, the correspondence has been more and more optimistic, though still few and far between. The latter is something that needs to change.
Last week, on tax day, as those of us right-wing extremists braved varying weather conditions and an FBI tail to voice our opinions about federal government run amok, my mother, a certified public accountant, celebrated 15 years to the day when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was April 15, 1994 when she shared what her doctor had told her. Fortunately, the doctors caught it early, but it wasn’t long before she was poking fun at then President Bill Clinton’s expensive haircut a year earlier–traffic at Los Angeles International Airport was stopped so Clinton could bring a Beverly Hills hairdresser onto Air Force One for a trim–as her own was falling out.
Last I heard, my mother is still fortunately cancer-free, though the subject hasn’t exactly been breached in the cordial exchanges limited to cheerful Hallmarks as the years have passed by. As my daughter–her only grandchild–turns three years old in a little more than a week having never met her paternal grandmother, I think it’s time for both of us to grow up and bury the hatchet.
Mother’s Day is coming up. I suspect that day will be especially difficult for Ann Coulter, as it is obvious from her touching column that she will miss her mother. I know that I will miss mine, too.