EDITOR’S NOTE: This story first appeared in the USA Today pop culture blog, Pop Candy, in May of 2014. It was part of a monthlong series where readers celebrated motherhood and pop culture. The story was then picked up and retweeted by the horror master himself, Wes Craven. Makes a Zombie Mom’s heart burst with pride.
Post-apocalyptic. Dystopian. The world’s end. “Zombies”. All terms and phrases frequently used in my house growing up. Questions as to how to survive in post apocalyptic society would arise at family meals and in car rides – most importantly, though – how to survive the inevitable zombie apocalypse. My mom is your definitive horror movie lover, an avid watcher and reader of any and all things that go bump in the night. There is, however, a specific subgenre within the ‘horror’ realm that she gravitates towards more than any other. Post-apocalyptic fiction.
Zombies have always been her favorite. There is something about these gruesome, festering flesh-eating creatures that she just loves. But please, do not DARE ask her to read or watch Game of Thrones – ” That’s just too much for me, Christina.” And yet, my mother has never missed a single Walking Dead episode. When I was seven, I dressed as a zombie child for Halloween. Amidst a sea of pretty pretty princesses, there I was the only child traipsing down the block covered in green, rotting flesh, and I loved every second of it.
That’s not to say that my house needed Halloween as an excuse. My dad and I loved to torment her WHENEVER we got the chance. We would slowly lurk towards her, our heads tilted to one side, arms raised slightly, groaning as we chased her around the house. She would run away, screaming, into her bedroom, scrambling to lock the door as my dad and I would bang, calling and yelling for “brains.” Though her paranoia extended well past the teasing of her loving and terrible family. My mom will absolutely not go to the mall past a certain time. It has happened on rare occasions and you can watch the small panic rise inside her. At a certain time there is the potential of getting trapped in the mall, and if we get trapped in the mall the zombies will come out.
My mom introduced me to the world of George A. Romero, Stephen King, of punk rock zombies and Nazi zombies. I’d jump into her bed on Sunday afternoons, nestle under the sheets and we’d watch marathons of terrible B movies like Night of the Comet, Day of the Triffids, and Killer Clowns from Outerspace, all the while discussing our various survival methods. As an adult, my love for all things post-apocalyptic has not diminished in the slightest. In fact, it has only increased. I still call my mom weekly to pore over the details of the latest Walking Dead episode or to discuss the new dystopian book series she needs to read. Amongst so many other things, Kim Cataldo has instilled a love in me for this gruesome, terrifying fantasy world that runs deep and I know I will always love to find out what’s next on her end-of-the-world list. But no matter what, I still can’t get her to watch Game of Thrones.
“You keep the windows intact, you keep society intact.”
-Rick, The Walking Dead (Episode: Spend)
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