It was late Spring, 1975. My brother and his cohorts were the culprits in a high school Senior prank that involved stacking tires on the school’s flagpole using a complicated pulley system. When my brother came home the next day, my mother simply said, “The police came to the house last night, and they asked me if I knew where you were. I said no.” That was it. No questions, no accusations, no punishment, and no damage to the parent-child relationship. And I suspect, though I am not certain, that my 17-year-old brother graduated without a police record.
Understatement was just one of my mother’s defining characteristics. There were others, some of which I didn’t appreciate at the time and some I’m just now recognizing.
My mother was not a whiner. Despite suffering almost unbearable losses and personal tragedies, I never once heard her complain. The words, “it’s not fair,” “why me,” and “it’s too hard” were absent from her vocabulary. I don’t think she consciously avoided using those expressions; I just think complaining never entered her mind.
“Better busy than bored” was my mother’s mantra. She carried a bag in her car so that she could park and pick up trash on the side of the road. She made dozens of hand-made quilts that she donated to charity. She had an unbridled enthusiasm for every grandchild event from band concerts, team sports, fundraisers, and school presentations. She cleaned refrigerators (and, to our horror, gutters) without being asked, refinished furniture, swept sidewalks, and made endless runs to the Dollar Store when her grandkids were young. Winding down meant sewing or reading; I never once saw her watch a commercial television show.
When we were kids, my mother shooed us out the door with the admonishment that we needed fresh air, regardless of the weather. We played tag, kickball, and badminton. We climbed trees and rode bikes. Vacations as a young family centered around hiking and exploring. My parents bought me my first horse before I was ten years old, which made me a barn rat for the next decade.
My mother incorporated exercise into every aspect of her life even as she aged: sanding decks, walking dogs, pulling weeds, climbing stairs with vacuum cleaners, and hustling through household chores. She wasn’t one to put on fancy exercise clothes and head to an aerobics class. She just never sat still. Late into her 80’s, I remember my mother trekking along with her walker in the small town where she lived, her face filled with determination and joy.
My mother never told me what to do, she simply modeled behaviors that spoke volumes. I don’t remember her ever telling me that staying busy and physically active would keep me sane and carry me through difficult times. I just know from her example that it is true.
I miss you, Mom. You were an extraordinary, energetic and devoted mother. I’m sorry I was such a brat at times, but you were my hero and role model. And thank you for not ratting out my little brother to the police, not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed it in a big sisterly kind of way.