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I don’t know where that little poem came from. It has been around me
for so long, I have claimed it for my own. I like it because it just about
sums up what most of us remember about being a baby. Like most kids growing
up I took for granted all the things my mother did for me and just knew that
what ever needed to be done for my well being would be taken care of by mom.
It was only after growing up and having a family of my own did I realize
all the things moms do so children can grow up to be care free and only worry
about such great tribulations as homework, girls and Pepsi money at the Snack
Shack.
Rent, utilities and groceries quickly took the place of homework, girls and
Pepsi. Maybe if mom could have just broke it down a little at a time so it
would not have been such a shock to my system. Maybe there ought to be a
class in high school for such things. That wouldn’t do though. If I
didn’t pay attention to basic math and English, why would I try to
comprehend any-thing as ruthless as rent.
There were those other things that made me think of how mom handled things
as I grew older. Even though money was tighter than a bankers hat band, mom
always managed to put a meal on the table. Maybe it didn’t contain all
the necessary food groups, but it was delicious and filling and always seconds
if you so desired. There were lots of times when I was first on my own that
I could have used some of moms food stretching techniques. Mom always had
to feed you when you went for a visit. Even at two in the morning she would
put out a twenty seven course meal and then apologize that she didn’t
have much.
My clothes were always cleaned and ironed and I still remember my mom saying,
” Being poor doesn’t mean you have to go dirty, soap and water
are the cheapest things around.”
I can never remember my mom ever lecturing me on how to conduct myself. Maybe
she knew that I was just a “wild and crrazzy guy”, or maybe she
knew down deep that I knew down deep, that if I got in trouble, I would have
her to deal with. Never mind the local police department, they could only
throw me in jail and make me pay off a fine by working on the local garbage
truck or cleaning up the streets, but heaven help you if you ever fell under
the judge-ment of my mom. It came swift and the memory of it lasted..well..let's
put it this way…when my mother lay on her deathbed I knew if I raised
her ire that she would muster the last ounce of strength and come forth to
let her wishes be known. Don’t get me wrong if you are one of those
bleeding heart liberals who think that was child abuse. It was called growing
up under the hand of a woman who did not demand respect, but got it the old
fashion way. She earned it.
Thank you mom.
There was another side of my mom that until later in life I didn’t fully
grasp and that was her religious beliefs. I only use the word religious for
clarification. Many nights after hanging out at the billboard and the Snack
Shack I would creep into a darkened house to pass my moms door and see her
on her knees praying for the family, praying down the necessities for keeping
the rent and utilities paid and some food on the table. If you got in trouble,
she never brought down hell-fire and damnation, but quietly she would say,
you should ask the Lord about this or that. More than once I would go through
some turmoil in my life, and memories of my mom ‘s advice would give
me the right direction to go.
Bless you mom.
Most of all I remember mom’s love. It was never a gooshy type of love,
but love that said, I might not always agree with what you say or do, but
I love you with all my heart. Maybe we never got all the love we wanted,
we always got all we needed and then some. I always tried to take my mom
flowers when I went to visit or send them to her on specials days. She always
said “Give me my flowers while I live. ”I always think of her at
times like these. I miss sending those flowers.
I
love you mom.
My mom was not a seer or a prophet, but when I had things to talk over with
her, she always seem to know far more about my problems than I thought she
knew. Not only that, but already seemed to know just where the answers were.
I miss those times. When I thought I was baring some great secret from the
inner most part of my soul she seemed to know about it already.
Wouldn’t it be great to go back and be young again. Being rocked to
sleep in That creaky old rocking chair on a bare wood floor. To have those
arms wrapped Tightly around you once more as she hums an old hymn and makes
all your cares Slip away as you doze off.
When my prayers were poorly said……….
I miss you mom.
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