Two weeks ago I watched the Charlie Rose show with great interest.  Ben Bradlee, his wife Sally Quinn and their son Quinn Bradlee were the guests.  The more than successful Bradlees touted the son’s book:  Growing Up Learning Disabled and Other Adventures, if I remember the title correctly. 

During the 1970s, Sally Quinn was the darling of the Style Section at The Washington Post and I was a young Bethesda mother trying to survive the Mommie wars.  I’m still amazed at the ire Ms. Quinn’s gushing—which she still manages to this day—inspired in me. I remember reading a three-page feature piece and wondering what was so special about this woman writer?  What I came away with was the somewhat ordinary ramblings of a young woman who had not yet found the man of her dreams and who had not committed to a loving and fruitful marriage.  Admittedly, that was my pre-feminine-awakening conclusion, and Ms. Quinn’s prose did nothing to discourage that thought.  Not being a follower of the Washington social scene, it was some time after that that I put together her romance with Bradlee and their subsequent marriage.  The birth of their son came soon after, and I didn’t even count months.  I remember hearing Bradlee in an interview—he was a very popular personality and a frequent talk show guest.  He was being congratulated by one of his TV media peers on the birth of his child.  When asked about the health of Quinn, he volunteered that the child had a hole in his heart and a few other difficulties, but otherwise was fine.  The mother in me said that now we are going to see another side of Ms. Quinn. 

Frankly, what I had expected from Ms. Quinn was the more typical advocacy for her son through agencies or foundations that support cures or research.  I figured we would hear from Ms. Quinn in that way, because in my mind she did indeed love the spotlight.  That was not to be, as far as my awareness was.  Perhaps Ms. Quinn became a great advocate for all children with disabilities, but I know nothing of that.  It would take many years and probably lots of agony finally to come to grips with the child’s disability—and to Ms.Quinn’s credit, she did let the son himself write the book. 

The cynic in me says, Or did she????

Certainly she did not let him tout it—as if Ben Bradlee/Sally Quinn as parents was not enough, we had to see them—in the flesh!  Granted, the father was not present on The View when his godmother Barbara Walters gushed over the handsome Quinn, but Ms.Quinn was there and happy to point out Quinn’s fiancée in the audience.  It was on the view that I did learn of the syndrome Dr. Whosiwatsis invented, er discovered.  And I did hear Quinn’s gushing descriptions of his mother.  Even I who complain about my children’s rudeness to me and would wish for the occasional kudos, found the archangel/wind beneath my wings motif somewhat unbelievable.  But Quinn acquitted himself well, all smiles and positive.  Mommy was OK, even if those of us who still shelter our children too much sighed and thought that we were neither that bad nor that successful—but we read successful as:  connected.

The best one was the Charlie Rose Show.  It was short and to the point.  When Bradlee and Rose seemed to be taking the path of ribaldry, the son was bemused at best.  Clearly, the cynic in me was saying that Rose might have been doing his thing and Bradlee was merely being himself.  But, I don’t think Mommy liked that at all.  And then the explanations began.  Whatever the public did not know about Quinn up to this point they were learning now.   

Both parents seem happy to equate Quinn’s learning disabilities with having no friends and, therefore, parents had to fill in.  Can you see Ben Bradlee fishing with his son and talking patiently to him, raising him up by hand as it were?  Begone cynic!  Can you see Sally Quinn tracking down the madam of a whorehouse in Barbados and trying to get the young woman who so lovingly took Quinn’s virginity hauled down to the local clinic to be tested and thankfully found free of STD’s.  Ben Bradlee winces so visibly at this re-telling that he gives credence to this outlandish tale. 

The Mommie wars are over for me.  I did what I could and am learning to live with it.  I have raised three beautiful, wonderful, imperfect children.  We are on good terms and they are leaning to forgive me for my failings.  Even though they have not written their memoirs as yet, I think I will be able to read them when they are published.  At least they will be doing both the telling and the touting.

Quinn Bradlee has published his memoirs.  From what I can see, he will have earned every cent he makes from them.