I should have known this would happen. I did know this would happen. That's why I tried to leave the family gathering without saying an official goodbye to my mother.
But just as I was about to open my car door and make my getaway, she exploded through the doors where the gathering was being held and barreled across the parking lot.
"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" she hollered. "You forgot the raspberries."
"Mom," I said. "I'm running late for my flight. It's OK. I'll "
And here I didn't know what to say. I'll what? Buy some raspberries when I get home? I couldn't say that.
To my mother, who doesn't just pinch pennies, she puts them in a chokehold till Lincoln cries uncle, only a crazy person would buy raspberries when he could have them for free.
A larger issue, though, even larger than money - well, about as large - was quality. These raspberries were handpicked on a small family farm in Michigan, a state renowned for its berries. What kind of son would not want freshly picked renowned raspberries? An ungrateful one, that's what kind.
Finally, there was the matter of gratitude.