IF THIS 2012 post by the reader Alan doesn’t make you mothers shed a few tears on this winter day then you are colder than a glacier.

— Comments —

Paul writes:

Alan’s experience must be shared by most of us.  Maybe I will remember to dig out and scan the black-and-white 1950s’ photo of my beautiful mother’s troubled expression as I toddled away from her on the sidewalk as she reached for me, as always.  People will see the old cars they can now see only in the movies.

As in the movies, my father stole her from a friend who had asked my father to pick her up for him.  My mother (an assertive person) was incensed at first, but somehow my shy father charmed her.  Maybe his handsomeness contributed.

In the scorching Gulf sun, Mama and Daddy would relay watching us in the pool or in the Gulf all day while my brother, my sweet cousin, and I would swim all day during “their vacations.”  (My cousin’s parents never took him on vacations.  We are still close.)  I just don’t know how they did it.  Although known for patience, that kind of patience is probably beyond me.

Mama would take us three to a local major amusement park on a Friday during the summer.  All day she would endure us swimming in its massive swimming pool and then in the local large brackish lake (thirty-five by twenty-five miles), which was adjacent to the park.  Of course, as an ex-athlete, she would join us, which we would thoroughly enjoy.

Being thrifty in the days when goods were more expensive than labor, she would prepare fried chicken and potato salad and bring tiny eight-ounce Coca-Colas in a cooler.  We would wolf it all down, and then go on the rides in the evening.  My Daddy would arrive in the evening after work.  He was always smiling in his suit, and we would run to greet him.  “Hey Daddy!” In retrospect, I expect he knew we would be by the water.

My brother developed a condition requiring him to remain in a body cast for two years.  (He recovered.)  My little mother (about 5’ 4”) would pick him (4-5) up in his cast and carry him whenever needed.  And he was a bad, tough seed, except he never committed criminal acts.  So he was awful from birth.  She never stopped loving him.  (Now I and my cousin have taken on the responsibility.)  My mother endured this until she became demented in her 80s and became incapable.

The cycle of life.  We must share in carrying Christ’s cross.

Ever thrifty, she would fry up pork chops and prepare beans or potato salad on Friday or Saturday or both evenings, and we would head off to the local drive-in theater.  Of course, she would include the little Coca-Colas in a cooler.  She and Daddy used to work at that drive-in as second jobs, and they knew how the drive-in would make them stuff the cups with ice to reduce the volume of Coca-Cola that was served.  The admission was only $1.00 per car, but the refreshment center was outrageously expensive.  So we never bought anything there.

We saw the Ten Commandments and many other classics there because we would not pay to go Downtown.  That came later when my parents became more financially secure.  I remember crying at Halley Mills singing America the Beautiful in Pollyana (1960 Disney). If only we all could be like Pollyana.

These are the memories and instincts that a mother gave me.

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