A Mother's Day remembrance

Mother’s Day is coming up soon. On this day, we call Mom to thank her for having brought us into the world and raising us to be the people that we became. Flowers and candy and cards are all a part of the holiday remembrances, but simply calling or visiting with your mom will mean more to her than you know.

I am glad to be in this world. I am one of my mother’s eight kids, the oldest boy, and third oldest kid. Having a brood that large could only be described as challenging.

I grew to the ripe old age of ten on an old farm in rural Michigan. After a move to suburban Illinois, I learned what a school with more than one classroom looked like and how hot blacktopped roads got in the summer sun. I learned how to drive on twelve-lane divided expressways and saw firsthand how the different human races didn’t tolerate each other very well while working summer jobs in the inner city of Chicago.

I learned how hard-hearted the world could be, but I also learned that kindness and understanding could offset that “cold, cruel world” attitude. I learned this from my mother.

Oh, she wasn’t perfect. She was in her early twenties when World War II started, and she held a distrust of Japanese people throughout her entire life. She never really liked to cook and, up until my oldest sister got married and invited me over to dinner that first time, I always thought round streak had to be fried in lard to the consistency of shoe sole leather.

My mother did know how important character development was in becoming a positive influence in our society, though.

When I was only five or six and television was the new entertainment media, I remember watching shows with scenes where the man would sweep the woman off her feet and plant a big kiss on her lips while holding her in his arms. My folks never did that. They would talk about the day’s upcoming activities while Mom made breakfast and Dad finished getting ready for work. A quick “peck” on the cheek would send my father on his way.

Apparently, I commented on this obvious, by my newly inspired TV-based standards, lack of affection. A couple of days later, I was busy getting ready for school when my mom called me to come downstairs for breakfast. As I walked into the kitchen, Mom asked if I was watching. My dad then took my mother in his arms, swept her into the “dipped” position and they kissed like I had only seen people on TV do.

When the kiss was finished, my mom asked me if that was how I thought they should act. After answering that I approved, my mom explained that the real world isn’t much like how TV was portraying it. One of life’s many lessons was conveyed that morning.

While she never was an outdoors person, my mother encouraged us kids to try various pursuits and endured the results of several of them. Mom had the best-fertilized flowerbeds in the neighborhood after my brother and I discovered bowfishing for carp, but our muddy, fishy-smelling clothes were a definite downside on laundry day.

After we started muzzleloading hunting and began attending and winning several shooting matches, my mother offered continued encouragement and didn’t object too loudly to the foul-smelling odors permeating the house when we cleaned the rifles in the basement.

My mother came to visit my wife and I when we were living on Afognak Island back in the 1980’s. She had never been an angler before but when I took her out to fish for gray cod and halibut one day, she was like a little kid in a candy shop. I never did get a line wet, between baiting her hook and landing her fish, as fast as she could reel them in. I think I laughed as much as she did.

Her bedroom window looked out on the hatchery and the saltwater bay beyond. I remember watching her kneeling on the bed so she could watch the brown bears working the shoreline for fish. Being a Midwestern kid, she had never seen anything like that and was fascinated watching the bears.

My Mom passed away shortly after her 88th birthday. She had a good life. I miss our long telephone conversations and some of her inciteful comments on the state our country was descending into. I miss you, Mom!