1928 - Alderson High School - 1968



Me Mudder!

Dan Duff

When my prayers were poorly said,

Who tucked me in my widdle bed,

And spanked my butt til it was red.

Me Mudder!

Who took me from my warm warm spot,

And put me on that cold cold pot,

And made me pee if I could or not.

Me Mudder!

See the original poem in its entirety by
Gilbert L. Foss

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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