George A. Dohrmann | April 25, 2018
On a small stage in the corner of Parisi’s Restaurant, a fortyish woman sways to the music. She cradles a microphone lovingly, as if it were a crystal champagne glass.
Baby love, my baby love. Her hips, wrapped in a white sequined dress, swing left on “baby” and right on “love” in amazing synchroneity.
“Please tell me that is not my mother up there doing that,” pleads Kory Klem. “Tell me she is not singing the Supremes.”
Kory’s mother is the first in a long list of moms to step up to the karaoke machine and embarrass their children. As the night progresses, sons find themselves singing too, and dads serenade their daughters with songs like “My Girl.”
“I never realized my mother had a tolerance level,” says George Bullard, watching his mother dance with one of his roommates. “You don’t think about your mother having a buzz.”
Later, Bullard and his mother sit on a windowsill ledge, holding hands and talking, their heads close together. “We talked,” said Bullard later. “We were just talking, you know.”
The scene was typical of Junior Parents Weekend last February. If JPW’94 could be summed up, it would be the image of Bullard and his mother in the corner of that restaurant, holding hands.