Remembering my mother on this special day

Today is Mother’s Day. Today, we call Mom to thank her for bringing us into the world and for raising us to be the people we became. Flowers, candy, and cards are all a part of today’s remembrances.

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 10 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 Chicago's inner-city.

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 kindness lesson from my mother.

Oh, she wasn’t perfect. She was in her early 20s when World War II started and, to her dying day, had a distrust of Japanese people. 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 black shoe leather.

However, my mother did know and understand how important character development was in a child to become a positive influence in society.

When I was only 5 or 6 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” would send my father on his way.

Apparently I commented on this obvious, by my newly inspired TV-based standards, lack of affection between my parents. A couple of days later, I was 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 in the affirmative, 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 took up muzzleloading shooting and began attending and winning several shooting matches, my mother offered continued encouragement and didn’t object too loudly to the rotten egg odors permeating the house when we cleaned the rifles in the basement.

My parents came up for my college graduation in Fairbanks in 1972. We drove out the unfinished Dalton Highway to the Yukon River black bear hunting. My mom worried about bears coming into camp until I showed her what a shotgun with slugs and buckshot could do close up. She relaxed and enjoyed the rest of what ultimately became a camping trip.

When my wife and I were living and working for Fish and Game on Afognak Island, my mother came to visit us. She had never been much of 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 was reeling them in. I think I laughed as much as she did.

My mother passed away about 10 years ago. I have fond and loving memories of her. If your mom is still alive, be sure to tell her how special she is to you. Soon enough, you won't have that chance.