Mother's Day

In church on Mother’s Day they took several minutes to allow people to speak about their mothers.  They asked for volunteers to share how their mothers had helped shape them into who they are.  I didn’t volunteer.  But I’ll share it here. 

I am a reader today and have learned numerous things because I learned to read well. I’ve learned practical, helpful things.  I learned to bake bread by reading and studying Homemade Bread by the editors of Farm Journal.  I learned to can tomatoes and peaches the same way.  I learned to sew, in large part, because I could read.  That allowed me to make beautiful curtains and window treatments (Well, I thought so, anyway.) when we had just bought our first home.  (It was what our friend and real estate agent, Rosemary, termed a “fixer-upper”.) 

From my earliest memories, reading has been a source of fun and relaxation.  And what have I not learned or at least learned better without the ability to read and comprehend?  At this particular moment I can’t think of anything.  There must be something, of course.  But I would have to give it some thought to give a better answer.  My mom gets the credit.  My mom who didn’t graduate from high school. 

It might be more accurate to say she was not allowed to.  She was told in the 10^th grade that she might as well quit school, simply because she was never there.  Period.  She was the oldest of four and was expected to clean house, be a babysitter, or whatever on any given day.  School was not even remotely important. 

So how did my mom do it?  How did she raise kids who loved to read and learn?  I can’t speak for my brother and sister.  But I can tell you how she motivated me.

If I were home sick from school and getting better, she would see to it that I at least was reading a book.  I remember the time she came home from running errands.  She had stopped at the drug store and purchased a Donna Parker book for $0.59.  It might be a reasonable assumption that the 59 cents had to come from the grocery money.  She once commented to someone that she didn’t care if we were reading trash, as long as we were reading.  (Now you’d have to know my mom to get any idea of the shock that statement gave me.  June Cleaver could have said it to Wally and Beaver and that would have made more sense.  But MY mom saying it?  The fact that I did not fall right out of my chair must say that I have some coordination and undeveloped athletic ability.  Because I really thought the apocalypse was upon us!)  I remember liking the fact that she felt that way.  A lot. 

At some point in my own sophomore year, I think, she told me she wanted me to learn English “good”.  (She didn’t know that was incorrect.)  She said she had always wished she could have had the opportunity to know English and “how to speak better”.  I sincerely paid more attention in Mrs. Freeze’s English class and even got into verb tenses and diagramming sentences!  I found it fun, even; a challenge!  (I was not previously a nerd, in any way, shape, or form.  I assure you.)

My mom valued education.  She thought it was worth working for.  I heard that many, many times over the years.  When I started wanting to learn to count to 100, she listened, repeatedly and repeatedly, I’m sure.  She told me I could do it.   When I wanted to read my first grade reader, she would let me read it as many times as I wanted.  When I needed to learn the pledge of allegiance, she listened.  Even at night when I should have been falling asleep, I remember her listening “one more time”.   When I wanted to write a letter to my grandmother when only in second grade, she put me at the kitchen table and helped me while she prepared dinner.  

I could keep going and tell lots of other touching things.  But I’ll save some for another time.  Maybe another Mother’s Day.  I’ll only add here that she always, always said I could only do my best.  In fact, the very last thing she ever really said to me when I was sure she was completely cognizant and totally functioning, was to tell me I should go and just do my best.  She reminded me that it was really all I could do.  I consider that a real gift.  In fact, not too long ago I needed that same encouragement.  I said to Allan and Snowy, “I need my mom.  I’m 61 years old (at the time), but I need my mom.”  What else needs to be said?