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13 may 2002

mothers' day

This is Mom when she was two.

I've told you guys this before, but I have to say it again by way of introducing today's entry. In me, both of my parents got a pretty fair shake. I look 50 percent like Mom, and 50 percent like Dad. Whenever I'm with either of them, lots of people comment on how much we look alike. "Janie, we can sure tell that's your daughter!" "Well Clete, ain't that the spit and image!"

And so on.

I love Mom a whole bunch. She taught me a lot, as good moms do. She covered the basics, such as cleanliness and good manners. I suppose if you consult the "how to be a Mom" books, I'd say she did precisely as directed. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Feed. Burp. Yep, I was in good hands.

I cannot begin to tell you how many more chapters she could have written, long before someone else actually put them to paper. Take the sun. I was born in Phoenix, Arizona, in August. From day one, and without a bunch of television experts, cancer warnings, and magazine articles stressing the importance of doing so--Mom kept me out of the sun. I was a sunbonnet-wearing baby, resting comfortably under a canopied buggy or a towel on bright days. As I grew up, she was diligent about covering Kelli and me in sunscreen, and making sure we didn't burn ourselves silly like all those Crisco-covered kids at the neighborhood pool.

Take being aware of your surroundings. For several years, we lived adjacent to acres and acres of cornfield. This was usually neither here nor there--until the crop dusters flew over to spray insecticide, in a time where people were still asking if DDT was really bad stuff. Most of the time, Kelli and I were free to stay outdoors for as long as we could stand it. Not, however, on dusting days. Mom would hear those planes coming, and keep us in with the windows closed for at least a couple of days after the spraying was complete. While a few of the neighborhood kids would "fly" into the clouds of insecticide like it was a big adventure, we were stuck indoors.

Of course, we didn't quite get what the big deal was. I mean, if your friends not only live to tell about their fun with DDT, but enjoyed every minute of it, you feel like you're missing something. To be honest, I don't know that Mom knew quite what we were missing, either. Tumors? A few extra toes? At that time, people were just beginning to realize that the stuff was vaguely dangerous, but didn't fully understand how or why. When it came to her kids, Mom didn't do any waiting and seeing. She didn't need some guy in a lab coat to tell her that kids shouldn't play in industrial-strength bug killer.

So we didn't.

I'm certain that my memories of Mom aren't entirely accurate. Take, for example, the idea that it is extremely difficult to remember Mom not being a nurse--even though she didn't get her nursing degree until I was 15. Even without the paperwork, Mom was always a nurse in my mind, both in spirit and deed. Come on, she had me for a kid. The same week I learned how to ride a bicycle (in the days when stores didn't even sell bike helmets), I decided it was time to circumnavigate the neighborhood with no hands. Good idea, Kim!

Uuuh, yeah. It was going well until I hit that patch of gravel and went careening into the field next to our house. Every exposed joint was bleeding, and saturated black and green with all the junk I fell into. I was an hysterical mess, and out comes Mom...smiling, sort of, when she realizes at least I'm conscious enough to scream and everything. She hauls me in for the cleanup...and wrapup...lots of hugs and kisses. No yelling at me for being a dopey little daredevil.

That was the thing. I was free to screw up. I think that was the best chapter she wrote.

Mom knew which battles to fight when the world came looking for me. I was safe, well-fed, properly-clothed, and well-educated at home and school. Outside of that, I had a good bit of leeway, and certainly more than many kids these days. My favorite color was rainbow? Fine. She didn't waste a lot of time trying to convince me otherwise. My imaginary friend, Margaret? Mom would set a place for her at the dinner table. Unconventional uses for toys? What do you think. High school forays into hair coloring that ventured into chemistry territory? Just clean up the bathroom when you're done.

I don't know how everyone else's Mom did business, and I sometimes can't put into words my own mother's methods. What I know is this: from the time I popped into this world, Mom decided to walk either beside or behind me, only occasionally nudging me back when I lost my way. She never pulled or pushed me onto her path, but (sometimes painfully, when she knew otherwise) allowed me to carve out my place in this world.

If success is measured in how much your children love you, they couldn't make enough medals and trophies for my Mom. I love this world, and my life. She showed me where the joy was.

Then she let me hold it.