Review of
A Mother's Son
by J.E. de Sousa

A Family Saga: Comments from a "Son's Father"

Through every chapter and verse in this book, the evangelist weaves a tapestry of love as he opens the vaults of his soul to give us a real

treasure. Such riches are being proudly displayed in the walls of my heart.

I'm happy to openly express here my own feelings after reading this epic. It's a family tradition to put things down in writing, so I'm just trying to do that while using my adopted English language. Give me a passing "E" for effort.

"A Mother's Son" is one man's account of what he saw and felt along his way as he pauses for a moment somewhere in the middle of his life's journey. He is not preaching much less white-washing the family's shortcomings. He is plainly telling it "like it is", or was. No cliches, no phony heroics. Just the simple facts, adding some musings about his walk along his side of the street.

Never have I read anything so touching, so absorbing and so beautifully written. Not a self-serving exercise or an ego trip, it deals with the nuts-and-bolts of life. The gifted writer with his crafty mechanic's instincts looks under the hood, and takes the engine apart, maybe to see what made it run. Eddie always had a curious, inquiring mind. The end result, in this case, is a masterpiece of honest reporting of a family's joys and sorrows, of its ups and downs, of its smiles and tears. The clever scribe introduces you to a family held together by a different brand of glue not found in your Wal-Mart store.

Some of those mentioned in this saga may want to suggest some corrections in the facts as seen by the scribe. Although my name is generously sprinkled throughout the book, I have no suggestions or requests for any changes.

Evangelist Edson saw me with all my scars and warts, and reported on me, as on others, from his own perspective. Indeed, without trying to lecture to me, he showed this old dog some new tricks. I'm thankful for that.

I'm sure he did the same when relating to his brother, sisters and friends. His portrait of his mother is as accurate as few could paint her complexities. Good writing is obvious to those concerned with such things. Honest

reporting is clear to me who was very much part of all the Jordans and Jerichos and Samarias so vividly described by the evangelist in this monumental work of love. I was there through most of it, and I can confirm that "it was so".

To my son Edson, this is my public acceptance of my own failings and my public tribute to the lady who helped mold this extraordinary man. Our Muncie would happily slobber him with a thousand kisses if she were here today to congratulate him on this detailed account of things around our Mayor's home and elsewhere.

Write on, Eddie! Make all of us proud to be part of this ordinary family and its extraordinary struggles through our victories and defeats. Of course, we also had our mini civil wars. You did not look for heroes or villains in the history of our lives. You simply pointed out our strengths and our weaknesses.

In particular, let me say that you portrayed your mother as nobody else could. You grew up at close range to her special kind of loving, and you did not fail to see her dedication to each of us in the home.

I'm particularly happy to see that you did not fail to notice that Muncie and I loved each other very deeply. My world has been quite empty without her. All of us miss her.

When the others in our family read your book, I pray they will applaud with me your courage to bring out into the sun the complete family laundry. If there were stained diapers or worn out shirts, there were also bright dresses in all colors of the rainbow, silk bows and rare Madeira embroidery in the finest needlework ever seen.

Finally, I must apologize for having taken all of you through the Stations of the Cross in my moving the family around the world but how else could you have written such a touching and beautiful book if we had just stayed nailed down at Flushing? Besides I wanted you to have a taste of the big world out there, the world in which I was plying my trade, often sailing against the wind. It was a risky world, and it was unforgiving to the faint of heart but it was most exciting. It also allowed me to bring home the bacon, or was it spaghetti and meat-balls? I still enjoy sailing my old gemstone routes, and soon I shall be setting sail to the South Atlantic waters.

I love you, Son, as I love my other children. I love you as I loved the

pretty Pittsburgh princess who allowed this jumping Brazilian frog into her life. Our joint enterprise was built around all of you, and that's why it was possible for us, two ordinary people, to have experienced such extraordinary things in life. Thanks from me to all of you. Thanks from all us to our precious and loving Muncie.

Your book, Eddie, is a fitting memorial to the iron-willed Lady who was hiding deep inside her a soft, loving heart that very few people ever came to know. We were lucky to have been part of Muncie's Big Show so well chronicled in your book. Her memory will live on among us who so loved her. You have returned her to us in your book.

Welcome home, Muncie! The Carmona set is waiting for you. Tell us again all about Jeff Davis and Varina.

With much love,
Dee

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