Old photos can trigger funny memories

I am not the type of person to typically be concerned if my word choices are always politically correct. Nor do I have boundaries when it comes to topics of discussion. However, I usually know my audience before I open up my big uncensored mouth. 

Recently, while searching through old photo albums, I came across childhood pictures that immediately triggered some funny memories. My mother and I were enjoying a beautiful sunny day at our local state park. I was in high school then, and spring had come to Jersey early that year. Although our beach club was yet to open for the season, the state parks were open year-round. No one swam in the lake before Memorial Day because the water was too cold. But the sand and the sunshine that day were enough to get us outside for at least a peaceful picnic lunch. 

Although my family had lived in my hometown for decades, we did not frequent the other swimming areas nearby. We were a member of a private beach club that required homeownership. We were surprised at how crowded the park actually was. According to the license plates in the parking lot, most of the guests were from New York, not New Jersey. 

While camped out on our blanket on the long grassy hill that took you from the parking lot to the water’s edge, a sizable group of young men approached. They came like a tornado, blasting their boombox and tossing around a football while bumping into whatever they passed. 

Everyone stopped what they were doing to see what all the ruckus was about. Yet the boys seemed oblivious to anyone but themselves. My mom and I continued to try and have a relaxing moment. However, this group, now partying in front of us, was not only loud but also obnoxious. Still, we tried our best just to ignore them. “It’s too lovely out to let some hoodlums from the city mess up our day,” my mom said. “Just like daddy was when we met in the Bronx,” she added with a giggle and a wink. 

She loved embarrassing me with romantic details of their past, but I didn’t mind. So, for the next half hour or so, we sat looking at the water, and she shared old memories about my father, the want-to-be “New York City Wise Guy.” 

Throughout our conversation, I watched my mother repeatedly shake her head regarding what the guys were talking about. They were not privy to my mother’s fluency in Spanish, so they had no idea she understood every word of smack they had been spitting out around her. Until she couldn’t take it anymore, she stood up from the handmade quilt we had been sitting on—one of her only personal belongings from when she “escaped” Cuba at 16. Or so the story goes. 

When “Mama Bertha” finally got her balance and composure, she clearly announced to the young gentleman – in Spanish – “You should be ashamed of yourselves. What would your mother say if she heard that mouth?” 

Within seconds, the whole group hightails their bottoms to another section of the park. Even though my Spanish was not good, I knew I heard certain bad words, and I was right.

According to my mom, the idiots wanted to rearrange my and my mother’s body parts so that I could have her “ta tas.” 

Wishful thinking in any language. 

Laugh on. Peace out!

Lisa DeMarco is a columnist for Villages-News.com