Happy Mothers Day!Last year for Mother's day wrote a posting about my mother. I have received more comments about that post than any other I've written. Several people have wanted to borrow mom for the next time they have to argue with some beaurocrat. Ever since I published that post, mom has developed her own fan club! I think its great, just as long as everyone understands that I’m not just the founder of this fan club, but also its president!
Because of its popularity, I’ve decided to make this posting an annual event. Happy Mothers day!
Let me tell you what you should know about my mom…
The earliest memory I have of my mother comes from when I was very young and sick. Mom was sitting in a chair at the side of my bed. Most of my memories of that day are vague and clouded by fever-tainted dreams. I vaguely remember waking several times during the day and night. Each time, mom was still sitting there in that chair. Day or night made no difference. She would be in that chair reading, clipping coupons, or just watching over me. There was never a time when I awoke that I couldn’t remember her being there. It just seemed to me that she had been there the entire time. In retrospect, I am certain that she did get up and did do more than sit at my bedside the entire day. But that feeling of knowing mom was always there by my side has never left me. That sense of security has made possible so many of the wonderful experiences of my life.
Long before Dr. Steven Covey wrote about a “sphere of influence” in his book, the Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, mom was already living it. If she knew you, determined you were worthy, and considered you a friend, you would automatically fall under her umbrella of protection. What protection that umbrella of protection offered depended on you and your situation. It might be a meal, a surprise gift, a card, a letter, a phone call, a sympathetic ear, or any combination of these. I have often wondered how many people really knew they had an adopted guardian in my mother.
Growing up, I cannot remember one week passing in which mom wasn’t on the phone to someone listening, questioning, encouraging, guiding someone through some problem or difficulty. If mom had only been paid for all the hundreds and hundreds of hours she spent counseling and nursing, my family’s financial picture would be very different. Instead, I grew up in a family that was rich in ways this world has difficulty measuring.
When I was a Resident Assistant in college I was often lauded for my skills as a counselor. Some people attributed my ability to talk to people in difficult situations to my major field of study being Psychology. Others credited my ability to having made the most of the training I had received as an RA. In truth, I was relying on the experience I had gained growing up in a counseling clinic called home!
I still remember with amazing clarity the day I learned that my mother wasn’t a nurse. Growing up I heard about how mom had worked at the hospital before I was born. The thought that she wasn’t a nurse never occurred to me. Mom always knew what to do whenever I was sick. It seemed like people were always calling our house looking for mom’s “medical advice” when someone was sick. In truth, mom probably could have completed her residency just on the amount of time she spent doctoring me the numerous times I was sick as a child!
Do not for one moment envision my mother as just some sweet, caring, gentle woman – that would not be anywhere near a complete portrait of my mother. The late Leo Buscaglia once said, “the opposite of love is not hate, its apathy. People who don’t love you don’t give a damn! We get mad and upset and yell at the ones we love because we care about them.”
Allow me to assure you that as mad as my mother got, she had to really love me! Whenever did something stupid, foolish or dangerous, mom would let me know it. She never laid a hand on me, but it wasn’t necessary. Her voice would not just get loud, but it would resonate with a certain tone. This tone would start at the base of my spine and work its way up my back between my shoulder blades. So many times I could feel myself wanting to shiver and quake in fear, but couldn’t because I had been paralyzed.
But the unbridled wrath of my mother’s temper was never really unleashed on the people she cared about. If she cared about you at all, she saved the full force of her anger for those who would try in some way to hurt or take advantage of you.
In all the world there are only three creatures that are not intimidated by the size of their opponent; the dog, the bee, and my mother.
One of my favorite mom stories comes from the time my dad had surgery. Almost immediately after the surgery the Dr. informed my mom that dad was going home that day. At the time, dad could barely sit up in bed – never mind trying to walk. The Dr. explained that dad was going home and mom explained that he wasn’t. I remember standing out in the hall while my mother and this surgeon argued over whether or not dad was going home. I could hear my mother’s voice getting louder and more terse by the second. Out in the hallway I wasn’t the only person who overhead this conversation, even though the door was almost completely closed.
I remember having three distinct thoughts as I listened to their argument: First, I always thought that doctors were smart. Second, that man is about to die! And finally, thank God she’s never been that mad at me!
Dad did stay in the hospital, until mom gave the doctor her approval for him to return home. Oh yes, not only did she win her argument, she made it perfectly clear who was in charge!
A battle of Navy Seals led by Arnold Schwarzennager against mom protecting her family, wouldn’t be much of a contest. Bet the farm on mom.
Did I mention mom cooks? My wife wasn’t intimidated by mom until she saw the clipping of a newspaper article about mom and some of her recipes. Now when my parents come over, my mom and my wife occasionally will be wearing matching or coordinating outfits. I’m telling you, I don’t stand a chance!
Mom’s hot chocolate mix and cookies were legendary with my friends at college. One friend of mine said he would help me bury bodies, no questions asked, for a handful of mom’s cookies!
That was then. Now, my children will do just about anything for a piece or two of “Grandma Fudge.” My children are always ready to visit grandma and P-pa (my daughter couldn’t quite manage grandpa and the title stuck!)
My daughter goes out of her way to do anything to impress Grandma whenever she’s around. A word of praise from Grandma can do wonders. If I tell my daughter she’s just like Grandma she beams. Her face beams as brightly as it does when I tell her she is as beautiful as her mother.
When mom is with my son, I am transported back in time. I get a glimpse of what she was like with her little boy; but from a different perspective. I get to add a little touch of reality to my perception of the past. I can now watch and observe the ‘little things’ I never would have noticed as a child.
It has taken a lot of time, a wife and children of my own to realize how much I am like my mother.
For what its worth, that’s a good thing.
