In Honor of My Sainted Mother

Some are kissing mothers and some are scolding mothers, but it is love just the same.
            Pearl Buck

How do you write about the importance of a parent?  What makes it more perplexing is that I’ve never tried.  However, thanks to an act of Congress back in 1914, when it determined that the second Sunday in May should be in honor of mothers, I have the opportunity to describe what is not easily describable.  Being on the other side of 40 and with no children, yet, I’m also encouraged to find out, to whatever degree I turned out well, what my parents did to make this happen. 

My mother grew up in the South, a small town in north Louisiana in a conservative, blue collar family.  If it is true that the southern culture places great emphasis on public decorum, then my mother learned an important lesson.  I always detected a little formality in how my mother interacted with others and I always appreciated her lessons in how one talks with authority figures, older people or complete strangers.  In some ways, she’s been a source of my feelings of what is proper and what is expected and needed in public.  Some of my students think I’m a bit rigid in my demeanor and what I expect from them but I like being a little old fashion in this way and I get this, in part, from my mother.

 
Another characteristic I’ve inherited from my mother is her personality.  My mother could talk to anyone and do so as an equal.  As a young kid, I was at times embarrassed by how friendly she could be because I did not understand yet the importance of speaking to people and letting them see your empathy and interest in their lives and the stories they tell.  I grew up in a variety of neighborhoods and my mother always encouraged me to find the worthiness in everyone around by the way she treated others.  It has been said that I’m the same in the way I speak to just about anyone, ask many questions to know about their lives and their work.  That spirit to speak to anyone was engendered by my mother.

One of the most important lessons my mother taught me was independence and tenacity.  My mother is a unique case.  Growing in a world where the expectation of women were in the home, she broke out, pushed herself out into the work force, overcame many challenges in her life and rose above and persevered.  She was not stoic.  She was verbose and angry and showed her struggles but she also endured.  I mentioned in another article about Friedrich Nietzsche and his theory about the importance of suffering.  It develops, clarifies and demonstrates character and that is what happened to my mother.  She has clawed her way through great difficulties and shown herself on the other side of it as an amazing woman. 

If I may say so without being an egotist, I’m independent and tough.  Part of it is a product of my surroundings, part of it from my time in the military and part of it from my years teaching high school but the base was built by my parents and typified by my mother.  Yet, she is sweet and caring and sensitive to those around her and nice, perhaps to a fault.  I’m not sure any of my students would characterize me as sweet so perhaps not all of my mother’s lessons stuck.  And, my mother is not perfect.  Our relationship has not always been the best and I’ve not always been a good son but I’m very proud of her and proud she is my mother.  And it is my hope and my belief that I’ve done her proud.