In this column, Kristen Mulrooney writes letters to famous mothers from literature, TV, and film whom she finds herself relating to on a different level now that she’s a mom herself.
Dear Mrs. McCallister,
In 1990, I was about the same age as your son Kevin, and he and I were on the same wavelength—that is to say, I judged the hell out of your parenting. Poor Kevin. The youngest of an indeterminate number of kids, with an antagonistic older brother, a creepy uncle, nasty cousins picking on him in his own home… and a mother who couldn’t give him the time of day.
You said it yourself, Mrs. McCallister: “What kind of mother am I?”
What kind of mother lets her entire family bully her eight-year-old? What kind of mother makes her youngest child sleep alone in a spooky attic? What kind of mother forgets about her baby when she jets off to Paris and leaves him HOME ALONE??
I thought you were the worst mom in the world.
