My mom grew up an only child, but she wasn't in the least bit spoiled. She learned the meaning of hard work by working in her mother's dress shop while other girls her age were at the local malt shop with their friends. She went to a Catholic school and became known as the wild child by sneaking out to the field to smoke cigarettes with her girlfriends. I can imagine the nuns were quite exasperated with her, but I think we would have made great friends if I had known her back then.
Like many girls in the late 1950's, my mom married and started her family right after high school. I don't know what she was thinking when she had my brothers in 1959, 1960, 1962 (Jan.) and 1962 (Dec). I came along four years later.
When I was born, my mom had been long since divorced from my brother's dad. At that time, it was not socially acceptable to be a divorced woman. Even worse to have a child if you were unmarried. With these social 'rules' stacked against her, a social worker determined she was not fit to keep her newborn daughter and promptly placed me in a foster home. My mom fought that arrogant social worker tooth and nail to get me back. Two weeks later, she did.
The first time I realized my mom was more than just a mom was when her favorite cat died. It was late at night and I awoke to hear sobbing. It didn't register as my mother's voice because, in my young, six or seven year old mind, mommies didn't cry. Mommies soothed their children's tears. As I made my way into the living room, I discovered my mom leaning against the front door crying her heart out. My first thought was,
Who hurt my Mommy? I'm going to beat them up! She told me she found Hoppy, her beautiful Manx cat out on the road in front of our house; Hoppy had been run over by a car. I hugged her as hard as I could, wanting to bring Hoppy back for her so her heart wouldn't hurt anymore.
My mom could be (and still is at times) ferocious. Yet she has the softest heart of anyone I know.
Our family had our issues, like any other. When one of my brothers was threatened by some local hoodlums, my mom invited them over to the house. No, she wasn't serving tea. She was serving a dose of what-is-going-to-happen-to-you-if-you-ever-threaten-my-son-again. Funny... we never heard from them again.
When I became a teenager, a so-called, respected neighbor assaulted me. Afterward, my mom knew something was bothering me and asked me about it. I told her what happened. Her face turned expressionless; she told me to stay where I was, then walked out the front door to his house. After that day, my neighbor didn't talk to me; he didn't look at me, and he didn't even breathe in my direction.
We never knew what words my mom used to persuade these miscreants, but I don't think she put the fear of God into them. I think she put the fear of burning hell-fire into them. You messed with her kids at your own risk.
At the same time, Mom had a hard time turning away any unfortunate animals. You can bet we kids took full advantage of that. One of our family jokes is,
Mom! Look what followed me home! She would get so mad at us for bringing home yet another stray, but we knew she would cave. At one point, I counted how many animals we had - 7 dogs, 18 cats, a hamster, a bird, goldfish and a piranha named Igor. Luckily, we had a large house with a huge back yard and a six acre field behind us.
I don't know how my mom survived and kept her sanity raising five kids. We certainly didn't make it easy on her. We were all absolute hellions. And she struggled a lot financially. At one point, she worked two jobs to keep a roof over our head and food on the table. She even learned to make potato soup out of ONE potato and spices to feed us when she had no money. She sacrificed so much more than I ever have to care for her children. I don't think she has any idea just how much I admire her. There are so many times in my life when I've wished I could be like her. Really. I know a daughter is not supposed to say it out loud, but when I grow up I want to be like my mother.
In every child's life, there is a turning point where the relationship you have with your parents will bring you closer or push you apart. Mine came when I was a fourteen year old, hormone-charged, obnoxious teenager. I was pushing the boundaries of exerting my independence and I was not considerate of my mother's feelings. I had come home from being out with my friends. I told my mom I was someplace I was not, and she called me out on it. I wasn't about to get in trouble so I lied about it. Bald faced lied. My mom and I got into a big fight and then she sighed resignedly and said, "Sometime I think you hate me."
Hate you? I thought.
I love you! But I didn't say it. I stared at her defiantly for a moment, then turned and stomped off to my room. I spent about an hour in my room arguing silently with myself, trying to decide if I wanted to continue being stupidly stubborn or swallow my adolescent pride. I walked out of my bedroom. With tears falling down my cheeks and feeling ashamed, I wrapped my arms around my mom and told her I loved her. I didn't want her to ever think that I didn't. I wasn't the perfect child after that, but I was always mindful of my mother's feelings. And I have regretted my behavior every day of my life since. Mom, please don't ever forget that I love you with all my heart. Ever.
My mom is now my best friend. She and I have talked about the meaning of life, the weather, religion, politics... you name it. We don't always see eye to eye, but we understand each other. I am so grateful to have her as my mother.
My mom is now 70. She told me recently that she doesn't feel her kids need her anymore. That's not true, Mom. We just need you differently now. As in needing your hugs when we visit. Hearing your voice when we call, even when we interrupt your favorite TV show. We still need your advice and wisdom when our lives aren't going as we expected. We definitely need you.
My mom and newborn my son in 1989. Aren't they beautiful?
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you.
Carli