Happy Mother's Day! Recently while sitting on my newly enclosed front porch, I wrote the following as an assignment for a writing group to which I belong. Remembering my Mama is always bittersweet but I especially miss her when all the world is celebrating, for she loved a great party.
Until I went to school at
four, I thought my name was “Hurry Heather.”
But no one called me that when at pre-school, it was just the rather
abrupt, truncated “Heather..” Apparently
I took my mother’s constant urging to heart because I was a speedy child who
was in a hurry to go out to play, in a hurry to learn, in a hurry to grow up,
in a hurry to excel.
It was, when I was young, and continues to be, years after her death,
almost impossible to ignore my mother’s voice.
It was energetic, excited, emphatic, encouraging, exacting, exasperated
but hardly ever empathetic. I know that
she was tender-hearted by her actions.
She carefully prepared meals for her sick friends and even those she didn’t
like among her acquaintances, She took in my and my sister and brother's found strays, both animals and
people. She was always the first one to offer assistance in a crisis, but I
never heard her say, “I know just how you feel.” She was impatient with the whole field of
psychiatry, which as a high school student, I found fascinating. She told me again and again, people who think
about all the bad things will be sad, but you can decide to be happy! She
always saw the glass half full.
In getting ready to write about her voice, which I
still hear, I re-read Mama’s journals.
They were lists of her tasks, the places she visited, the things her
friends had said, what had happened in the world, with absolutely no
commentary. So I have come to the
conclusion that Mama was not introspective, or if she was, she was never comfortable
sharing those thoughts.
Mama was opinionated. She has strong views on religion, politics,
the proper way to run a house, how children should behave, her role as a wife
and daughter-in-law, her duty as a Christian, and the best way to fight off
illness (usually based on completely erroneous beliefs about how the body
actually worked). To this day, I cannot
abide the thought of liver and onions, which she dutifully served once a week
years after I was a healthy robust, pink cheeked child, because as she said,
“You were anemic as a baby.” END OF DISCUSSION.
To her the fact that I was healthy was due to all that disgusting liver.
But her strongest opinion was
that all her children should and would go to college. She always regretted that she had to turn down
a scholarship to college because her Dad had died and her Mama needed her to
help support her younger brothers. There
was never any possibility that her children would not get the opportunity to
learn. All I wanted was to be an artist,
but as Mama said, “ College will make you a better artist, and it never hurts
to learn to type, so you can write your papers!” She paid for private typing lessons while my
grandmother paid for my art classes in high school.
Of course Mama was
right. I used the typing to earn money
to help pay for school after my own Daddy died my first year in college. And I did love school! And, of course, in this digital age, typing or rather "keyboarding" is an essential skill.
Naturally, there were many
things Mama said, that I did not want to listen to, things like:
“Pretty is as pretty
does.” Usually delivered when I was
hysterical that I did not have a new outfit to start the school year, or had a
pimple the day I had to give a talk.
Or
“It is as easy to love a rich
man as a poor man.” When I clearly was
enamored of a flashy boy of few prospects.
Or
“An apple a day keeps the
doctor away.” When I wanted fudge.
“It is better to buy one
really well made item, than two trashy ones.” When I
wanted to purchase some very trendy item with my baby-sitting money.
“Keep you hair out of your
eyes, or someone might think you are an idiot.”
No possible clue why she thought this, but clearly she did not approve
of the sixties’ hairstyles.
“It is easier to make your
bed the minute you get up.” Never mind
that you drank three glasses of water in the night. No dashing to the bathroom
first.
But mostly Mama was right
about all the things she wanted for us and the voice I hear most clearly is,
“You can do anything you really care about, Heather. Just decide to do it!
And because I am
introspective, I wonder about how my daughters hear my voice?
Will they stop up their ears
and try to ignore that voice? Or will
they, like me, remember Mama with mixed feelings, awe at what I was able to do,
and compassion for the things I was not so good at doing? Will they tell stories about my strongly held
misconceptions and a laugh with joy at happy memories? Will they wish I had been a different kind of
mother? Will they learn from my sharp
words to be careful with their children?
Will they remember my sitting up until they are home from some late
night activity as they sit up waiting for their own teens?
And now, as I glance at the
clock, I hear “hurry Heather” as the day and my Mama call me with things to do
and places to see.
Hope your Mother's Day brings back memories of your own Mama or of the Mother's Days you celebrated with your children.
