The Corner


Mothers and Others

Lake Michigan, at Grand Haven, Mich. (Jay Nordlinger)

My Impromptus today begins with a fightin’ Irishman — the leprechaun mascot of Notre Dame. Is he too stereotypical for modern America? It moves on to Mitch McConnell, Rodrigo Duterte, J. D. Vance, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and other topics. Try it here.

Maybe I’ll publish two letters today, one of them tart, the other of them lovely and transcendent. Okay, get ready for the tart.

In my Impromptus of Tuesday, I wrote of driving past a billboard outside Grand Rapids, Mich. The billboard advertises the delivery of pot right to your home. I said, out loud in my car, “Go jump in a lake.” (I have Bowdlerized heavily.) A reader writes,

I lived near Pensacola as a teenager and when my mother drove by a strip club that was part of our route to the doctor, she lost her temper once and yelled “AHHHHH” with her middle finger outstretched in front of my startled face pointing at the club.

There’s a mom. A bit more from the same letter:

Myself, I drive home from St. Louis into Illinois and when I see the sign advertising pre-abortion screening with copy about “living your best life” and a woman modeling as if she were at a night club, I turn into you.

Also in Tuesday’s column, I wrote of Grand Haven, Mich., which is a community on Lake Michigan, about 30 miles from Grand Rapids. A lady writes,

Dear Jay,

I love Grand Haven, too. Growing up in the D.C. area, but originally from West Michigan Dutch stock, I vacationed with my family there in the summers, in one of those stack-built cottages tucked back in the dunes — affordable for large families in the ’60s. In September, we are returning to Grand Haven, to Lake Forest Cemetery behind the dunes, to bury my mother, a Grand Haven native. She is the last of her generation, children of a Dutch immigrant father (arrived in 1904) and a Grand Rapids native to whom Grand Haven was the end of the world . . .

The end of the world until street cars were extended. Our correspondent includes a picture — a small black-and-white — of “my beautiful mother,” sitting on the beach. Beautiful indeed.

And thanks to one and all.


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