word to my mother

Usually I don't post on Sundays -- not because I'm hung over, but because I don't have Internet at home -- but I'm bucking tradition so I can give a special shout-out to my mom.

In summary, my mom is pretty much the coolest person in the entire world. Even though she lives in California, I still feel closer to her than ever. Probably because she has the patience to put up with my incessant phone calls, and has even taken to answering the phone with my trademark "holler."

My favorite mom memory, however, has be the role she played in teaching me to drive. When I was 22 years old. I had my license, but a lapse in driving during college made me terrified to get behind the wheel once I started work in the "real world" post-graduation. So in the weeks prior to my first newspaper job, my mom gave me some serious behind-the-wheel training. Even though I pretty much wanted to kill her then -- two words: imaginary brake -- I now feel like I'll never be able to thank her enough.

Anyway, on my first day of work, my mom came with me because I was afraid to drive alone. We figured we'd worked things out perfectly...she agreed to sit in the car all day and wait for me so she could accompany me if I was called out an assignment. So I got into work, and one of my editors told me I had to go cover a water board meeting at 9 a.m. No problem, right? My mom was in the car to help me drive.

Not that easy.

My editor then told me he'd be coming into the meeting with me to introduce me to some people. Immediately, I panicked. There I was, 22 years old at my first serious journalism job, and my new boss was going to find out my MOM came to work with me. So I got in the car, informed my mom of the situation, and made her crouch down under the seat, giving me driving instructions as we followed my editor to the meeting site.

Once we got there, I totally thought we were in the clear...I'd park far away, get out of the car and meet my boss in front of the building.

False.

My editor parked right next to us. Next to the passenger side of my car. Where my mom was sitting.

Busted. I had no choice but to act 100 percent normal. I just turned to my editor and said, "Adam, this my mom. OK, are we going into the meeting?"

Believe it or not, a year later, I drove across the country alone.

Thanks for putting me in the driver's seat, mom. But more importantly, thanks for always being my passenger-side air bag when I make a wrong turn.

Love you. Hollaback.