Perry Mason and Me

Not everyone who knows me knows that Perry Mason and Della Street are my parents. I don't go around bragging about it, because you know how some people can get...all uppity and whatnot. People try to one-up each other when they find out a friend or colleague has famous parents; it's only natural. I decided to tell the truth, now that both have passed. I haven't kept it a secret that they are my parents, I just don't mention it to everyone. It's not the first thing out of my mouth when I'm introduced; you understand.

I think the fantasy began around the time I could sit up and stare at the television set. I wasn't fixated on that particular show, not by any means. I had many, many favorites, but as I grew and as my imagination kicked into gear, it became more and more apparent to me that I would need to keep up the ruse about where I came from if only to see the looks on people's faces when I told them. I always say it with a straight face, and usually as it is almost an afterthought.

"Perry Mason is my father." I say, and when they ask who my mother is, I tell them, "Della Street, of course." No matter who I'm speaking with, they always answer me "Of course!" I've never had anyone tell me I was lying or that I didn't have all the rocks I know I have in my head. It's a simple fact, and we all deal with it. I can't think now if I ever have mentioned it to my pseudo parents, Wayne and Becky Stringfellow. They may or may not be aware. It's been too many years; it's a moot point by now.

Perry and Della had such an impact on my life, and if it wasn't for them, I couldn't tell people why I ask so many questions, why I dig deeper into matters that most people either don't care about or they steer away from. I don't steer away, I call in the reinforcements, the Paul Drakes if you will. I get in there, and I get to the bottom of things. It usually takes me longer than 47 minutes to do it, which is how long a Perry Mason show lasts, but I do find the culprit, and I do make my point known.

Della, for her part, was always the faithful one. When I worked for Mr. Moler all those years (the attorney employer in my life) I tried to be as dutiful, but there was no way the man was going to ask me to work past 5:00 p.m., allow strangers to bunk at my place, or send me on some wild goose chase in the middle of nowhere while wearing heels and pearls. That didn't happen -- Della was always better than I when it came to stuff like that. I answered the phone, made coffee, and kept the books. I did what I was paid to do; I think Perry and Della had a bit more going on than an employer-employee relationship. In fact, I know they did, because I'm their kid!

I've seen every Perry Mason episode and movie ever made. I own every Perry Mason television episode and movie ever made. I watch them over and over again. I quote the man, and I listen to his wisdom. Erle Stanley Gardner is my hero of heroes among authors. You can keep your J.K. Rowling, Grishom, and Tolkien...nope, give me a good old-fashioned murder book by Erle Stanley Gardner anytime; over and over again. He makes sense to me. He challenges me. I love that man.

When the chips are down, as they have been, I usually have Perry Mason to see me through things. I couldn't go out to eat or pay my bills, but I could always count on a book being on my shelf if my electricity was turned off, and those times when I had to keep the kids fed instead of myself, those reruns of that show made it that much more bearable. I think my kids know about my parentage; they've asked if I got any royalties...to which I had to answer in the negative. Maybe I should have spoken up sooner about it. I don't know. It is what it is. I'll survive.