Read On: Time to remember Mom, eccentricity and all

I was all set to write another column about Donald Trump because we haven’t really heard enough lately about that guy, have we?

But then I came to my senses and realized I had nothing really new to add to the discussion, that something as inexplicable as Drumpf’s ascension to the top of the Republican presidential mountain may be better served by future generations trying to figure it out.

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So I thought I’d talk instead about Mother’s Day, since it is, after all, tomorrow. It’s a subject we can all agree on. There are few things in our lives better than mothers. Not only do they populate and repopulate the Earth; they also supply the kind of unconditional love and devotion to their offspring that demonstrates the best we humans can be.

No one loves you like your mother. It’s just a fact. If you’re a mother yourself, pat yourself on the back. You truly do have the most difficult, time-consuming, anxiety-producing, most overwhelming and, at the same time, most fulfilling, job on Earth.

If your mother is still with us and you have the time and ability, do something really amazing for her tomorrow. At least call and tell you how much you love her — assuming you do. As I know from personal experience, she won’t be around forever.

I lost my mom a little more than six years ago at age 88. The truth is that I no longer think about her every day. When I do think about her is around Mother’s Day, of course, as well as on her birthday in June. I also think about her when there’s something I feel like I need tell her that I know she’d appreciate.

For instance, my guess is that Mom would look at the current political landscape and the Drumpf phenomenon and claim to be utterly unsurprised, given her mantra, “The world is full of morons.” She would love to be witnessing that theory in action.

There are indeed still times when I file something away to share with my mother and, for a brief moment, I genuinely forget that she’s dead. I imagine that will remain the case as long as I’m around myself.

As the “moron” comment might suggest, my mother was not the sweet, warm, nurturing, apple-pie-baking mother in the all-American mold. She could be cold and judgmental. She was neither a hugger nor a kisser and rarely volunteered an “I love you” to myself or my siblings.

My mother also wasn’t much for things social, generally preferring the solitude and the company of pet cats and birds to humanity. She was awkward and generally uncomfortable with people, lacking patience, in particular with those who failed to meet her minimum standard of intelligence.

Every woman to whom I introduced my mother — girlfriends and wives, especially — emerged convinced that she hated them, as her interactive style with new people was to silently stare. If given a compliment, Mom would simply nod and utter a knowing “uh-huh,” seeming to forget that the polite response was “Thank you.”

The thing is, my mother wasn’t much for decorum and etiquette. She was, to put it bluntly, an acquired taste. But at the same time she was one of the most fascinating people you’d ever meet.

Mom was a world-class eccentric and an independent woman before her time. When my morally bankrupt jerk of a father slept around on her, she did what she had to do to survive and support her kids without him. That included work as a masseuse and a romance matchmaker.

She would also become a business innovator and pioneer with a broad-minded streak, becoming a leading creator of fragrant love-making gels and potions at a time when women rarely ventured outside the realms of teaching, nursing and waitressing.

I was proud of my mother for whom she was and what she became, even if she was anything but the demonstrative maternal figure we identify with motherhood.

Some who knew my mother wonder how I could have felt such love for a woman who so lacked traditional tenderness and warmth. My answer is simple: She was my mother. I know how deeply she loved me, even if she often had trouble showing it. I always knew she had my back, if not the rest of me.

Mothers come in all shapes, styles and manners of conduct. No matter how weirdly they behave, they are your mother. You’ve got only one. If she’s around, love her like crazy — even if she herself is a little crazy.

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RAY RICHMOND has covered Hollywood and the entertainment business since 1984. He can be reached via email at ray@rayrichco.com and Twitter at @MeGoodWriter.