What my mother taught me. (Delivered at the occasion of my mother’s funeral, Oct. 15, 2013, in Burlington, Ontario) My mother, Marian Joan Scott, was a child of the British Empire before its sun had set. Her sense of decorum, forged in that era, meant that a public display of one’s emotions and sentiments was just not done. Indeed, keeping a stiff upper lip meant that one responded with “fine thank you” even when being eaten by an alligator. (Proper manners required that one also inquired as to the health of the alligator.) In accordance with that tradition, my most cherished thoughts about her shall remain my own. At this occasion, I shall recount seven things that my mother taught me. First, my mother taught me that love acts. To her, thoughts and feelings that were not backed by efforts and actions were not genuine. She emphasised that what one did showed how one felt. She did more than tell my sister and me about it – she lived it. Mom’s father died when she was 15 years old. Not wishing to leave her mother alone, she put aside her plans to attend university in Canada (at McGill) and went to work in Jamaica so as to be available to her. Three years after we immigrated to Canada, Dad was transferred to Edison, New Jersey. Reluctant to expose me to another culture shock, given that I was just overcoming the earlier transition, Mom chose to stay in Richmond while Dad tried to find opportunity back in Vancouver. When this took longer than they anticipated, she bought a flower shop with Aunt Joan and worked long hours while raising us, so that the family could be reunited. Second, my mother taught me loyalty. When her mother, Grandma Orrett, struggled to maintain her independence, Mom made time during a very busy schedule to help her deliver flower arranging lessons from Grandma’s home. She also taught her young son that spraying customers with a hose through the window was not the kind of customer service experience that they were looking to create. To my mother, people were more than just “useful”, and employers had obligations to help their workers. In Jamaica, we had a maid (Pearl) and a gardener (Selwyn). When we left Jamaica, she and Dad ensured that each was looked after. Pearl was given a year’s salary to help her get started on another option, and Selwyn was assisted to get a job in a large U.S. bauxite company, in which he earned far more than he could as a gardener elsewhere. Mom also kept in touch with them, and would occasionally update me on their whereabouts many years after we had left the island. Third, my mother taught me honesty. Her commitment to the truth was firm. When I was perhaps five years old, I took a liking to an eraser at the Hi Lo grocery store. Mom declined to purchase it, since I already had my supplies and did not need it. Out in the parking lot, she noticed me playing with it in my pocket and immediately marched me back into the store to apologise to the store manager and return it to its place. The lesson stuck. Recently one of my customers (a large firm with global operations) paid an invoice twice. Knowing that there was little chance that they would notice, I nevertheless contacted them to draw this to their attention. Throughout the process, the image in my mind was that of my mother marching me back into the grocery store. Fourth, my mother taught me courage. Mom and Dad were well established in Jamaica as the society descended into chaos. Crime increased significantly. The threats that they faced were very real – my father’s aunt and a cousin were both murdered, and they received threatening messages implying that my sister and I were targets. Through it all, neither wavered in their refusal to contribute to the madness that was seizing the island, nor to participate in the waves of violence based on revenge that were buffeting its shores. Mom and Dad also went to great lengths to protect us. Their entire world of friends, family and colleagues were in Jamaica. To ensure that my sister and I would not have to navigate the society that Jamaica was becoming, they left everything that they knew in order to provide a safe land in which to raise their children. They left it all for us, so that we may live in a country that functioned well, and would never have to learn how to navigate through corrupt officials and murderous lunatics. Fifth, my mother taught me the importance of family. Mom always greeted new additions and distant links with warmth and inclusion. People were offered immediate acceptance upon joining the clan, and welcomed with hospitality and cheerful conversation. She also spent many hours trying to convey this approach to me, patiently explaining how a relative fit into the scattered tapestry of the “family dynamic”. Those who crossed our family encountered a fierce lioness protecting her pride of cubs. She guarded her brood jealously, and instilled in us a strong sense of familial pride. She ensured that we all knew that bringing shame on the family name was just not done, and that standing beside one’s family during times of trial was expected. We knew this because we watched her do it. Sixth, my mother taught me patience. My mother encountered trials beyond anything that I can conceive of. She lost her father at 15, and her friends and extended family when she moved from Jamaica. She was separated from her husband when his work transferred him across the continent – a span that they believed would be short, but which a recession and business setbacks extended to seven years apart. Born on a tiny island where no one was far away, she endured moving great distances away from her son and grandchildren in British Columbia, and her daughter in Ontario. Through it all, my mother encouraged me to find the sunshine amid the storm. When I would rail at a setback, she would calmly point out the positives that were, and the potential of what might be. She gravitated to a family member going through a trying time, and suggested to them ways of navigating to a better tomorrow. Seventh, my mother taught me faith. She prayed each day, and often reminded me to “trust the Man upstairs”. Her attendance at church services waned over time due to her frustration by what she experienced there – an obsession with what someone was wearing or doing, rather than on reaching the world around them. Her knowledge of the Scriptures was not detailed, as the tradition that she was raised in did not prepare their members well. Although her experience of God differed from mine in some important ways, she maintained an upward focus on Jesus and a calm assurance that she was with Him. My mother believed, as I do, that our souls go to be with God when we die. She taught me to focus on God in life, and to have the assurance of being with His for eternity when we die. Often she reminded me that we were not here by accident, and were never alone if we would but reach back to the divine arms stretched out to us. Therefore I do not say “farewell” today, but rather “until we meet again”.
Posted on: Tue, 15 Oct 2013 15:02:37 +0000
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