The Lorelai to My Rory
Dedicated to my mom. I’ll always need you.
I often find myself measuring time in books I’ve read, music I’ve listened to, or TV shows I’ve watched. I can tell you of the books I read in middle school when I should have been paying attention in class and the music I played over and over again in high school while I did my homework. These different forms of entertainment add memories to my childhood and my emergence into adulthood. And television, too, has followed me ever since I was little.
I remember watching cop and law procedural shows with my parents at 7pm and 8pm before being ushered upstairs at 9pm to go to bed. Before there was Netflix and Hulu as we know it today, there was no pausing to grab snacks or take a bathroom break. Instead, once the commercials started, it was you against the clock to get what you needed done before the show began again—and you didn’t know when that was going to happen. I have vivid memories of my mom yelling “it’s on!” when I was in the kitchen waiting for the popcorn in the microwave to finish, and then I’d dash back into the living room.
I watched TV shows that I probably shouldn’t have watched at such a young age. My parents and I loved watching 24 (at least, I did until I realized how problematic it is with its portrayal of Arabs) and every version of CSI and NCIS and Blue Bloods and any other weekday night time show you could think of. As I got older, the shows became a little bit bloodier.
In all my TV-watching years, there’s one evening that sticks in my mind. I think I was in fifth or sixth grade, and we were still living at my childhood home in Lebanon. It’s the evening of Thanksgiving; the house is now quiet after being filled with the hustle and bustle of making the holiday meal and being together with family. Dad had gone to bed a couple hours earlier, but Mom and I were on the couch watching CSI: NY reruns. I remember the Black Friday ads—they were never ending and too loud and too bright. It was one of the first times I had stayed up really late. I’m pretty sure Mom and I turned off the TV around 2am. But it was so nice to just sit there with my mom, both of us in our pajamas, her smelling like Gold Bond lotion that her mom also used (and now that I use, too). A blanket thrown over our laps, we talked about things while the muted ads played, falling silence once the show came back on.
Like Rory and Lorelai from Gilmore Girls (which we have watched, of course) my mom and I have bonded over TV. We’ve watched Vikings and Gotham and White Collar. Historical dramas are our favorites, though. We’ve seen Downton Abbey and The Musketeers and Poldark and just the other day finished Victoria. Next, we’re onto Doctor Thorne and after that, who knows. But there’s nothing like sitting next to my mom on the couch watching these shows. We laugh together and cry together and try to outdo one another over what we think will happen next. We swoon over the sexy shirtless men and root for the main character to achieve her goals. I love spending my lunch hour or evening with my mom like this. And I hope you do, too, Mom.
But I think some of our best moments (and inside jokes) have come from watching Gilmore Girls. I tell my friends that my mom and I have a relationship just like Rory and Lorelai—except neither of us like coffee. I cannot imagine sharing my day-to-day joys with anyone else; nor can I think of anyone else who I would want to go to when I need a shoulder to cry on. When I was away at Hofstra, I could call her and she would know if something was wrong just by the tone of my voice, and she would always have the right thing to say.
Watching TV with you is one of the things I miss most when I’m away at college. I’m glad I’ve had these past few months to spend time with you. I love you, Mom. Forever and always.
