Mother's Day Special

My mother, Ella Bernadine, was born in 1922. She passed away in 2002, five months shy of her 80th birthday. I miss her, and every Mother's Day I think about how much she influenced my life.

I watched a Mother's Day segment on my favorite TV show, Sunday Morning, and got all emotional. Even though I just released my May blog a couple days ago, I wanted to issue another one about my mother.

My mother's influence in my life was monumental. Still is. I was the first born in a family of five children. Growing up, I recall her treating me more like a person than a child. She taught me how to cook, do laundry, sew, good manners, and a thousand other things about life that have collectively shaped the person I became. 

I suppose I was a "momma's boy" when I was very young. I remember following her around the house wanting to "help" her. I cried that terrifying first day when she left me at the Holy Spirit Catholic School. The nun in charge of my first grade class told me to stop acting like a baby. She was scary, so I toughed it out and survived.

One day, weeks later, that same nun would not allow me to go to the restroom during class. I really needed to go, but the more insistent I grew, the more resolute she became. Later that day, riding the school bus, all the kids sitting around me knew something was wrong. Fortunately, I was wearing brown corduroy pants, obscuring the fact that I had shit my pants.

When I explained the circumstances of my accident to my mother, she became angry - not at me, but at my teacher. I had never seen my mother get so angry. She drove  me to school the next day and went straight to Mother Superior's office with me in tow. I suspected a monumental storm was about to be unleashed. There was a tension in the room that even a five-year-old kid could sense.

Before my mother's acrimony unfolded, I was escorted to my classroom. My primary concern shifted and now focused on the many forms of retribution Sister Holy Terror would inflict on me in exchange for my mother's wrath. By the time my teacher returned , I was nearly hysterical with fear.

To my utter surprise, nothing was ever mentioned following that incident. Sister Holy Terror treated me like nothing happened, and she also never again denied me a hall past to visit the restroom. From that day on, I held a deeper respect for my mother.

Mother always had a maxim or idiom for just about every occasion.  Things like "a stich in time, saves nine." "don't count your chickens before they're hatched." I often find myself digging up some of those sayings, and I think about her every time.

She told me a million times to always put women on a pedestal, protect your sisters, and never-ever hit a girl. She taught me to be kind, thoughtful, and many other positive traits. She encouraged me to always try to achieve my best.

I know that I disappointed her with some of my choices over the years, but she never stopped believing in me. Despite the mistakes, I think I managed several achievements that hopefully made her proud.

On this Mother's Day, I make time to remember my mother and to be thankful for all that sacrifices she made for me and our family.

Happy Mother's Day.