So. My cousin Loma reminded me that its been a bit since Ive talked about my mother. I tend not to do that so often, since I take it for granted that most people recognize what a first-class dame shes always been. But...you probably didnt know that: She met my dad while working as a waitress, serving him pieces of rhubarb pie and cups of coffee for 15 cents a pop. Dad used to tell me the pie was okay, but the waitress was pretty sweet - so he kept coming back. She once shot and killed a deranged cow that had escaped from the slaughterhouse while she was carrying payroll money for the Navy in WWII. She and my dad have the same first initials...J.D. She made the best damned tuna casserole in the history of mankind. A very close second was her roast beef and homemade gravy. She watched in mute horror as I launched myself off of the living room divan when I was six years old, clad only in my tightie-whities and a beach towel, after I yelled, Hey Mom! I can FLY! Afterwards, she took me to the emergency room. She held my hand when I was in an oxygen tent, unable to breathe because of my asthma. She held my hand while I was paralyzed in the hospital with blinding pain from my juvenile rheumatoid arthiritis, while all I could do was cry. She made me cream of chicken soup when I had strep throat. She let me sleep in a cardboard box with my first dog. She let me break her heart a thousand times with every stupid mistake Ive ever made. She told me she loved me after each and every one. She hugged me after my first dog died, and in spite of the fact I was a teenager, she reminded me it was alright to cry. She earned the nickname Mean Jo Green while working as a lunch lady. And almost everyone who called her that ended up hugging her. Regularly. She rode on the back of my brothers Harley Davidson. And didnt scream once. She forbade me to ever buy a motorcycle. I did, anyway, and she forgave me for that, too. She was the one who could tell me that my father loved me. Because he couldnt ever say that out loud. And hardly anyone knows...that it was about this time of year, back around 1978, that we got stuck in the snow in the parking lot of All Saints Catholic School. She didnt want me to push the car, so she had me sit behind the wheel and give it some gas, while *she* pushed the car. I ended up dragging her about fifty feet through the snow. She still laughs about it to this day. And she coined the term Farthammer just to describe me. There isnt a list long enough for me to tell you all of the things about her that made her such a wonderful mom. But there should be. There really, really should be.
Posted on: Thu, 11 Dec 2014 05:02:26 +0000
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