So,
today I have been thinking a lot about my mom.
We don’t get to pick our parents, but we do end up carrying a lot of
baggage because of them. I decided it
was time to work though a few things about my mom.
My
mom was number 5 of 6 children raised in southern Louisiana on a rice
farm. As the fifth daughter, number 6
was the son, she was often overlooked or thought of as just another girl in
search of her father’s approval.
Educated in the public-school
system, she went to SMU to become a nurse and she did. While her future husband was the first in his
family’s history to attend college, my mother was the 5th of 6
college educated children. She was wicked
smart and had a great sense of humor, but unfortunately was raised in the traditional
southern method of never outshining her husband. Based on what she told me growing up, my
father was the first man she had relationships.
This was in the late 50’s and when she became pregnant, they got
married. When I was 7 or 8 and learned
the gestation period for a normal child was nine months and that my sister was
born in March of 1959 while they married in August of 1958…well 2+2 = 4 and August
30th to March 23rd is 205 days a few short of the normal
280 days. That said, my sister did not
do the math until she was a teenager and never quite had the same relationship
with my mother afterwards, I want to thank my big brother for pointing out to
my sister in a verbal fight that mom and dad had premarital sex and that mom
got pregnant and that is why they got married.
Yeah, a lot to unpack there but hey it’s family.
My
mom was a complicated woman. She voted
in every single election and often worked the polls; I believe this is where I
got my sense of civil duty. Where my
father tried to dictate how his offspring should vote and view the world, mom
was more subtle. She pointed out the
good and the bad but was always careful to show that having empathy for the
unfortunate was more important than a dollar in one’s pocket. I am not as good as she was, but I am still
trying to follow her lead in this area. She
would always allow my father to have the last word. She would always let him win in games. She would always allow him to be smarter,
more worldly, more in control. In
examining my life and my history especially about her I am struck by the fact
that a smart woman like her would make decisions based on archaic ideas that
were detrimental to her mental and sometimes physical health. My father was a bully and my mother allowed
it.
That
said there are a couple of shining examples of her wicked humor and intelligence. One of my favorites happened while we were
living in Houston, Clear Lake to be precise.
From 1968 to 1971 my family lived in Clear Lake. Great time to be there BTW, NASA was in full
bloom and the USA was striving to be the first nation to put a man on the
moon. While still the height of the Viet
Nam war, this area was something of an anomaly.
My next-door neighbor was an engineer working on the space packs and on
the other side was the pianist for the Houston Symphony. Across the street was a literal rocket scientist
and several astronauts’ children were in my classes at school. Anyway, after
the moon landing the IBM contract was winding down and my father started to
travel, he loved flying as it made him feel important and valued. On Mondays he would leave and return on
Friday’s. A true road warrior. My mom was the traditional housewife at this
time. She made the beds, cooked the
meals, did the shopping. I will never
forget that one weekend when we sat down for a dinner my mom had prepared, my
father made a nasty comment about all the fancy food she served, it was a roast
chicken, broccoli rice casserole and a salad.
He commented on his mom always served smothered steak, mashed potatoes
and green beans and why was it good enough for him growing up and why did she
cook this fancy stuff that no one really liked.
For the next 6 months my mother made smothered steak, mashed potatoes
and green beans every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night. She made fried eggs, bacon and biscuits every
Saturday, Sunday and Monday morning. She
served lunchmeat, potato chips and iced tea for lunch. The rest of the meals were varied and mixed,
but whenever my dad was home…we got the above menu and only the above
menu. At the end of that time my father apologized
in front of us kids to my mom. Like I
said, wicked!
Now
to the traditional outpouring of good and bad.
On the good side, my mother loved music.
Here favorites were early R&B and Rock and Roll. She had a stack of 45’s that included Bill
Haley, Little Richard, Bo Diddley, Fats Domino, Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry
and of course Elvis. She loved to watch
the Tony’s and the Grammys. The Sound of
Music was one of her favorite films and there is little doubt my love of
musicals and rock and roll are derived from her. While she listened to C&W, because of my
father, she would often let me play KLBJ-FM on the stereo when my father was
not around.
She
worked hard and was very good at pretty much everything she did. She taught me how to do research. She encouraged me to play basketball. She came to my games. She taught me to love to read, as a dyslexic
I hated reading, but under her guiding hand, first by reading out loud to me
and then going to the library to find things I liked, Sci-Fi and History BTW, I
learned to explore the written word.
Thank you for being my supporter and my cheerleader.
She
kept a clean and spartan household. I
never appreciated how much she did until I was on my own having to do it all
myself.
She
read. Oh my god did she read. Thousands of novels. When she passed, we donated over 300 books to
the local library. Those were the ones
she kept, for some reason. Most were
romance novels, but some were classics. There
is only one other person I know that reads more and I am fortunate enough to be
married to her. I wonder if that is one
of the qualities for which I looked?
On to
the minus side. She would not stand up
to my father and as their marriage progressed, she became more and more co-dependent
on him. She became an alcoholic because
of his alcoholism. She was a chain
smoker like him. Her politics over time
moved further and further to the right, strangely as mine moved further and
further to the left. She did not divorce
him after multiple affairs were brought to light, thanks again to my brother
and his love of logic. She quit her job
because he said he wanted a stay home wife.
When money became tight in the late 1970’s she went back to nursing for
5 years only to leave again at his request.
Because of competence and an ability to get along and manage in 5 years
she was making almost his salary. Again,
she agreed and went back to being his wife.
It is
difficult to understand why she would not divorce him. She claims it was love, but now I see it as a
combination of her southern upbringing and her fear of being alone with 4
children and no “man”. The situation is
the embodiment of “The devil you know” cliché.
I guess clichés are that way for a reason.
When
she died, I mourned. Unlike my father’s
death, which was a blessing in so many ways, I cried. She was a touchstone in my life. For the 2 years after my father passed, I
would go out to their place twice a week.
Once on Wednesday’s, after picking up her medicines and groceries then
drive out, put stuff away. Do the prescription
boxes. Balance the checkbook and write
out this week’s checks for her to sign.
Once on Saturday’s with one of the children. We would change lightbulbs, do small repairs,
move stuff around, light housekeeping duties.
I would call her on my way home Monday – Friday to make sure she was alright
and chat about the day.
That
is all I am going to do today, my next entry will be about my mom’s death, my
family’s response and the hell that is family.
Good luck to all of you.
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