My earliest memory is from the vantage of Mother’s lap. We’re at a family picnic and she’s trying to get me to nap. I’m watching my brothers and Dad throw a football. Mom and I are on a pink-and-white quilt, there are lime-green plates, a wooden-thatched basket, and cookies wrapped in tin foil. I’m holding a cardboard container of grape juice that has a purple cartoon lion on its side. Mom is rocking me, her arms around my belly – it’s warm, sunny, maybe even early May. I’m sure I dozed off there, like all my brothers before me, with her arms around me, her constant love swaying me to afternoon dreams.
When I think of Mother I think of all the good that’s happened in my life. If it weren’t for her where would I be now? Sure, there’s the obvious – I wouldn’t be here at all – but I’m thinking of the lessons learned from childhood to now. The lesson to see the good, to work hard, to believe that things will be better. I think of the lessons she taught me by giving all that she could, the lessons to honor my parents, to say please and thank you.
We weren’t a wealthy family – some might even say we were poor – but I know we always had enough. I never went to sleep hungry, always had shoes to wear, winter coats and mittens, and presents on Christmas morning. With five boys to feed, to clothe, and to care for I sometimes wonder how my parents did it all. Now I realize their secret: they did without so we didn’t have to. Our family vacations were to visit family. Or we’d take a day trip and hike at state parks, wade in creeks, and return home tired, happy, and with dirt under our fingernails. In the summers she’d find the money to send us to church camp while she went to work.
Mother gave her life so we could have ours. I’m sure she had dreams, ambitions, and hopes beyond raising five boys. I imagine her dreams didn’t consist of an endless mountain of laundry, ripped jeans, and boys that fought until someone’s nose was bloodied. I know there were many days when my brothers and I complained, came home with bad grades, found trouble, and caused her grief. These were the days, I imagine, she thought of what her life could have been like without all these kids. I’ve wondered if she imagined herself living somewhere more fabulous than Hayseed, Indiana. I’ve imagined her with a fur wrap going to shows in New York or the ballet in Paris. Was this what she would have done if it weren’t for all us boys? Did she even dream about what her life would be if it weren’t for her role as Mother?
As much as I know Mom I know what she’d say: No. She’d look you in the eyes and say that she was a Mother and her job, one of her jobs, was to take care of us. And she did. She was a chef, a nurse, a referee, a counselor, and taxi cab driver. She cleaned us, wiped away tears, sat with us at the doctor and dentist. She was the kind of woman who could be wearing a fancy dress and pearls, but still lick her thumb and wipe away a smudge of dirt from your face. If you had a problem you went to Mom.
She would get us out of bed, drive us to school, and then go onto work. My parents owned several grocery and convenient stores and she had to be there. She’d leave work, pick us up from school – often she’d bring peanuts and orange juice – and then send us out to chores and homework before we could play. While we did our assignments at the kitchen table she’d wash a pile of potatoes. She’d scrub ‘em, peel the skins in long ribbons ready to be sliced. She’d wash giant white onions and then fry the potatoes, onions, and an occasional green pepper with salt and pepper in the heavy skillet. I’ve watched her dredged cube steak in flour, fry that on the back burner, and then make a gravy from the drippings for biscuits. Other nights she’d make stewed red tomatoes, green beans, and corn from the garden, chicken, or maybe a slow-cooking roast in the oven. Sometimes she’d make chocolate pudding – the old-fashioned kind with hot milk and sugar – and make a pie. She kept us fed.
In the summer she’d wake us when she was heading out. She’d have a list of chores for each of us written in fancy cursive on a napkin. We were expected to pull the weeds, mow the lawn, or clean out the barn. Or we might be assigned to clean the bathroom, the kitchen, and clean the dust from furniture. She taught me that there’s always something to do, something that needs to be done, and repercussions if I didn’t. We were taught to say ma’am and sir – and always please and thank you. I learned respect first because it was the right thing to do and later learned respect because it was due. There was no sassing, no talking back, no compromises. My Mom didn’t count to ten before punishments were given. If we deserved it, we got it. My parents weren’t afraid to use a belt – though it was rare when it happened, but was probably needed. We knew the rules and operated within the structure my parents established.
There was always time for play. Mom would scoot us outside – cold or hot – and told us to run off energy. We played basketball, football, or hiked to the woods by our tiny creek and shot BB guns. Our bikes took us down old country roads and over homemade ramps. We weren’t coddled, sheltered, or parked in front of video games and television. If the sun was shining, and often when it wasn’t, we were outside – always adventure waiting. You learned early in life to not complain to Mom that you were bored because she could always find something for you to do: help with laundry, pick apples, or dry the dishes.
Mom wasn’t just a disciplinarian. She could play tricks, tell jokes, and would share stories on evening walks. She laughed at us, asked us to tell her about our day, and made us feel important. She encouraged us to have fun, to pray, and to become men. She could laugh at herself too, like the time she tried to help corral an escaped cow and her favorite pink slippers found a fresh pile of, well, a freshly-created cow pie. At first she was disgusted with the mess between her toes, but then she rolled her head back laughed at the sky. I can still see her limping to the green garden hose still wearing her one good slipper.
At Christmas and Easter she always made certain we each had the same treats and type of presents. She made certain we had little notes on Valentine’s Day and made, with a few drop of food coloring, green eggs for St. Patrick’s Day. On your birthday she’d make pancakes in the shapes of elephants and dogs. Mom thought of us first and then herself. Mom could, like no one else, apply band-aids and wipe away tears. Mom clapped the loudest at school plays and hugged me first at graduation. She gave me books and encouraged my early writing endeavors with a new typewriter. She was eager to meet her grandson and was there with kind words in my divorce. She travelled all night and was by my side when I woke after surgery just a few years ago. Mom has been the constant woman in my life and I’m thankful for her presence.
There have been times when I wished I could return to her lap and have her arms around me on that pink-and-white quilt. There have been moments when I’ve longed for peanuts and orange juice on the ride home from a long day. I try to make hash browns with onions and peppers, but it never tastes as good as Mom’s. Sometimes I’ll hear Amazing Grace or The Old Rugged Cross and I can hear her singing as she prepped another meal. At sunset I picture her sitting on the bench swing with Dad. They’re drinking iced tea and watching us play. Mom will wave and I’ll go back to my football game, or continue my bike ride, or, to her fret, scamper higher in the big, leafy tree. Time goes but one way; those blissful days are gone and life moves onward, one sunrise, one sunset each day.
So many lessons in my life have come from Mother. I’ve learned that hard work is good work – and that the chore I dread the most is the thing I’m probably supposed to do first. I’ve learned that if you’re going to do something you should do it with your whole heart – otherwise it’ll be sloppy and need to be corrected. I’ve learned that it’s good to love, to care, to think of others, and it’s good to have someone to lean on. I’ve learned what it feels like to be loved, to have things without the knowledge that someone has gone without. I’ve learned to give, to be humble, and to be thankful.
Thank you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day. I love you.
“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened.” -Helen Keller
