My Mean Mother
Today is Mother's Day, a day set apart to pay homage to the mothers of America.
Most have memories of their mother, whether they are pleasant or unpleasant. I want to acknowledge my mother today, and let the world know exactly what I had to put up with during my childhood years. Perhaps then you will understand why this day honoring mothers affects me so deeply.
To begin with, my mother was definitely "different" from most mothers.
In fact, at times she was considered to be down-right "odd" by others, and I was often inclined to agree with them. You see, my mother was a really mean lady!
First of all, my mother had the audacity to be at home all the time. She sent us out the door to school in the morning, and when we came home, she was still there. She allowed us no time to get into trouble on our own. We were always accountable to her. Oh, she did get out on occasion, maybe to accompany our class on a field trip, or bring cupcakes to school on our birthdays. Other than that, she stuck close to home and kept tabs on where we were, who we were with and what we were doing. Talk about a kill-joy!
Mom seemed to think it her duty to cook home-made, healthy meals for us - three times a day. While other kids got to bring sack lunches or feasted on cardboard burgers in the school cafeteria, we were expected to walk the half block home and eat lunch there - with my mother and grandmother!
How I longed for a pre-packaged "Twinkie" or one of the other delicacies my classmates enjoyed! But, oh no, I had to have a home-made brownie, after having finished my bowl of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich.
Are you beginning to get the picture of the difficulties I faced as a child?
I guess Mom never heard of child labor laws, for she had all of us doing chores each week. I was forced to dust and vacuum the living room.
Can you imagine that my mother (shhh!) spanked us when we were naughty? She had obviously never heard of Dr. Spock. How she evaded arrest and imprisonment, I'll never know. But the spankings did cause us to reconsider our future actions!
If you haven't heard enough of my mother's meanness, please listen there is more. Since Dad was a preacher, and Mother the preacher's wife, it follows that we spent a lot of time at church. We were not allowed to run around the church like "hooligans" (one of her favorite words) or play tag in the choir loft. How come the other kid’s mothers let them slide under the pews and sneak around sipping grape juice out of the used communion cups?
Oh, we missed out on so much. Well, those days are gone, and my very mean mother is now 80 years old. She has not changed a bit, except for many added years, a slow unsteady gait and gray hair.
My dear and precious mother, thank you for the strength, courage, and commitment you've shown throughout the years as you molded the lives of my brothers, sister and myself. Thank you for all you gave up that we might have more; for making us "toe the mark" and do what was right. Thank you for loving us when we were unlovely and unloving.
For being the meanest mother around, you sure have turned out alright!