A quiet son, his extrovert mother and the powerful bond they share | Opinion

What did I do to deserve this?

My older son, Douglas, is nothing like me where personality is concerned. My natural instinct — and that of my younger son as well — is to jump off a cliff and worry later about how we’re going to land. Douglas is not aware there is a cliff. He is introspective, pensive and busy with his very active internal life — at times, completely unaware of where he happens to be.

As our differences became more and more apparent, Douglas learned to cope with a mother who wore costumes, led public meetings, officiated at weddings, served as the mystery mascot for the local semi-pro baseball team, chaired school boards and cultivated friendships with any and everybody, including his own friends. More than once, he has said he must have been really evil in a previous life to deserve someone like me for a mother in this one.

He spoke in sentences before he was a year old, taught himself to read from a sixth-grade history book before he ever went to school and conducted himself flawlessly in adult situations without any need for coaching, it seemed. And he was inherently sure that he needed very little non-essential interpersonal interaction to live a happy, interesting and contented life.

When he was in his mid-20s, Douglas lived at home. He effortlessly stepped into the position of service writer in our family automotive repair business, bringing his photographic memory to bear on the mechanics of every automotive configuration, from Model T to computer controls.

He was an excellent “front man” in our business, efficiently explaining needed repairs and seamlessly handling interaction with customers. In between conversations with customers and technicians, Douglas always had a book close at hand. He read constantly and voraciously.

Quite a combination of characteristics. And from babyhood and into adulthood, Douglas quietly — without fanfare — surprised and delighted me. How had I been so lucky to get this particular package in my firstborn? We grew to enjoy our differences and tolerate the parts of each other that we could not fathom.

One day, as Douglas was standing across the counter from a regular customer at our shop, going over a completed work order, he felt something bunched up in the shoulder of the over-the-head jacket he was wearing. He continued with the transaction, trying to ignore the feeling that something just wasn’t quite right with his jacket. After Douglas had answered all questions, he paused to allow the customer to pull his wallet out of his pocket. Only then did Douglas finally reach up into the arm of his jacket. What was wrong here? With the customer extending his credit card and watching him struggle, Douglas pulled a pair of my Mickey Mouse underwear out of his sleeve.

Apparently, it was a laundry malfunction. Poor sweet, intelligent, cursed Douglas.

In the children’s book “The Story of Ferdinand,” by Munro Leaf, we read about a bovine youngster who is “different.” This young bull is a beautiful, healthy specimen of bull hood, but he just doesn’t want to fight and butt heads with the other young bulls. Instead, he wants to sit under a tree and smell the flowers (or, granting me poetic license here, dear reader, read his books).

The book says, “His mother ... because she was an understanding mother, even though she was a cow, she let him just sit there and be happy.”

Some of us are just who we are in spite of societal mores, parental effort or even peer pressure. None of that matters to some of us. We can’t help ourselves. We have to read books, be quietly self-sufficient, keep our own counsel and be very sure of our knowledge in spite of others’ opinions. It’s just who we are. And, sometimes, the people we love make allowances. They love us anyway. Ferdinand’s mother knew this.

At my recent 80th birthday party, Douglas came up to me and said, “Mom, you and I have to take a picture together.”

“Really, Douglas?” I said. I was astonished.

He never wanted his picture taken, much less with his mother in her bunny costume at her surprise 80th birthday party! I couldn’t believe it. What a birthday bonanza.

“Don’t get too excited, Mom,” he said, “I’m only doing this because my online friend in Norway doesn’t believe my 80-year-old mother wears a bunny costume.”

It goes both ways, doesn’t it? We accept them when our children come to us, already sure they know exactly who they are.

And sometimes, if we are very lucky, they pay us the ultimate compliment of accepting us. They may even take a picture with us in our bunny costume.

Bunny Stevens lives in Modesto, her hometown, and has served on The Modesto Bee Community Advisory Board. She is the opening courtesy clerk at the Safeway supermarket on McHenry Avenue and an ordained minister in the Universal Life Church. Reach her at BunnyinModesto@gmail.com

This story was originally published October 11, 2025 at 6:00 AM with the headline "A quiet son, his extrovert mother and the powerful bond they share | Opinion."