This day belongs to my mother

I wrote this column for Mother’s Day seven years ago. This year my mom is marking her 67^thMother’s Day.

There were many other things I could have written about today, but none more important.

It’s Mother’s Day, and if you don’t take the time to visit, call, write or remember your mother, shame on you.

So this column is in honor of all mothers, but especially my own. This year is a special one, because it’s the 60th time she has celebrated this day. 

Unfortunately, there are some people in this world who have had a bad relationship with their mother, or no relationship at all. For them, I hope they at least had a motherly figure to whom they could relate. 

I am fortunate, because I have a mother who not only cares about me but always has been and continues to be a major, positive influence on me. 

So here are some special thoughts about the best mother who has ever walked on Earth – something you may dispute but won’t change. 

Mom was a stay-at-home wife and mother. Not because she had to be, but because that was important to her and my father. It wasn’t easy financially – and many times we all went without things – but it was worth it. She always was there for our family. And she could stretch a budget further than anyone I’ve ever known. 

She was a great teacher, whom I never wanted to disappoint. I learned more from her than from all my years of school. And not just the basics of life. She taught me good values, faith and the importance of family, including building strong relationships with grandparents. Through her I learned, and eventually practiced, patience, compassion, sacrifice, charity and forgiveness. 

Mom is the one who always bakes the birthday cakes and has spent countless hours quilting a special blanket for the wedding of each grandchild. When we were young, she would treat our cuts and scrapes and wipe our tears. She would cheer us when we were sad and hold us when we were lonely. Whenever we needed her, she would drop whatever she was doing and give us her attention. She seldom asked for anything for herself. 

In fact, she is nearly perfect in my mind, but she did have a few flaws. 

She turned me against mashed potatoes. We had them at almost every evening meal because my father liked them, so it was many years after I left home until I would eat them again. 

To this day I can’t eat or even
tolerate the smell of red beets.
Mom, in one of her rare stubborn
moments, decided I needed to stay at the table until I learned to eat vegetables, which were not among my favorite foods. We both learned something when I got sick that day many years ago. She never forced me to eat something I hated again, and I never again ate red beets. 

In reality, Mom never had a favorite child, but it didn’t seem that way growing up. For years, we have teased my parents that my sister, the middle child, was the favorite. My brother, the youngest, always seemed to get away with things. When I complained, they said, “He’s only little.” 

So I came to refer to them as “the favorite” and “only little.” 

My designation came from the times I would ask why my little brother could get away with things and I couldn’t. “You’re old enough to know better,” they explained. 

She did save me on more than one occasion when I would get into trouble. She would warn, “Wait until your father gets home,” but she seldom shared the bad reports of the day. 

The most special times were at night, when my mother always had time to read to us. They were good stories and would take our minds off the monsters hiding under the bed. They were fun things, such as the poem “Somebody Did” by James W. Foley about a little boy who would get into trouble or break things and then go running to his mother to tell her what somebody had done. We never grew tired of hearing that one. 

Those stories relaxed us and helped us to fall asleep. In fact, to this day, I can’t read a story to my grandchildren without yawning incessantly. 

All of those good memories – and there are so many more – grew out of her immeasurable love for us, and I hope we continue to add to them. 

What child hasn’t asked why there’s a Mother’s Day and Father’s Day but no Children’s Day and been told, “Every day is Children’s Day”? 

For me, that has been true. Mom has made sure of it for 60 years.