Since my step-mother’s recent passing….I’ve had numerous thoughts reflecting the relationship with my mother. My mother has more strength and tenacity than words could possibly describe. She is the backbone of our family. Although she was the “baby” of the family, everyone has always leaned toward my mother for proper guidance and sound advice. You may not always want to listen to what she has to say, but at least, you know where she stands and what her thoughts are.
My grandmother, Nettie, died when my mother was a young child. To this day, she still cries at the mere mentioning of my gradmother. Mom slept with her until the day she was killed by a drunk driver. Later in life, my mom explained the reasoning behind not allowing me to sleep with her when I was scared. She said,”It was the hardest thing for me to get over losing my mom and not having her to sleep with.” She vowed that she would never put one of her kids through that sort of loss and abandonment. I thought that she was the most calloused woman when I was younger. I constantly begged her to go to bed with me until I fell asleep (due to being scared of the peeping tom, Old Lady Arnold). She never once gave into my pleas. After becoming a mother myself, I vowed to be the total opposite. I allowed my son to sleep with me. Was it the wisest move on my part? I’d have to honestly answer that it was not the best decision that I made.
She has always been the provider and caretaker of our family. Being raised on a small farm in Delaney, she was always working in the field or on the farm with the animals. At an early age, she knew what “hard work” meant and she instilled that into her children. She reminded us that idle hands were the devils’ workshop. One summer she had my sister and I digging up rocks and disposing of them. My sister and I tossed the rocks out in the street. My mother drove in from work that evening and about had a stroke. She screamed at us,”Everyone is going to think that the Clampets moved into town! Do you think that these rocks are going to mysteriously dissolve on their own?” We were order to go to the street and remove the rocks immediately. The following summer, she supplied us with spoon handles to remove dandelions from our yard. I know that it sounds like total nonsense and while not understanding the logic behind the ridiculous chores at a younger age. I’ve grown to appreciate her “goofy chores.” Nothing in life is free, you must work for it. Mom made sure that we understood her work philosophy.
She can still out work her kids and grandchildren. She is on the constant move. No one can keep up with her. The woman’s house is immaculate….you could eat off of her floor and never think twice about it. The neighbor’s have often commented,”We have never seen anyone wash the floor of the garage and driveway like she does. If we sweep it, we have accomplished something.” As my son often refers to her as being “the neat freak.”
Aside from being a dedicated aunt, mother, sister—she has been the most supportive grandmother. I can’t remember my mother leaving us to go anywhere except for work. We stayed at the babysitter’s until my sister was old enough to watch after me. She always held a steady job and often worked at two jobs. We didn’t take glamorous vacations or spend wildly on lavious garments. As mom would tell us,”We’re not trying to keep up with Jones’s.” We lived within our means and nothing beyond. She was much more lax after the grandchildren come along. She is always spending above and beyond for the grandchildren. If they want a certain shoe, brand of pants or a shirt that has to have a certain feel….she’ll break her neck to find exactly what they want. I call it “cobbing” and she calls it being a grandma. When the oldest grand son started walkiing, I’ll never forget watching our stepfather placing him on the kitchen table. Levi loved to hear his new shoes make a “slapping noise” on the wood surface. He clapped joyfully at his noisy clomping as I sat in total disbelief. You would have never convinced me that my mother would allow something of that nature on top of her kitchen table, if I had not witnessed it firsthand. When we were small, my sister and I were never allowed to jump on the beds. We thought it was a treat to go to our cousins’ house and jump crazy like monkies. I have photos that my mother has taken of the grandkids jumping on the bed. I guess as she became older, she grew softer as well. I’ve often teased her that she thought more of her grandkids and that she thought of her actual kids. She would explain that they were separate kind of loves. She said, “You can spoil the grandkids and send them home. I had to live with you kids and it was different.” I’m thankful that she was not as strict with them as she was with us. The more you tightened the reigns with me, the more I wanted to rebel. I believe that my child will have the same “lovely” characteristic. Mom always says,”You are going to pay for your raising with that child.” Believe you me, I already know. I couldn’t have a child anymore like me than if they had cloned him from me. There is no denying who he belongs to. My mother has always been proud that she has a grandson that favors her side of the family. All of the grandsons are fair complected and light headed. Treyton sticks out like a diamond in a goats’ butt–he has the dark hair and the facial features of the Shackelfords.
Last but not least, my mother has always been a born fighter. When she was younger, my mother ate lye. It nearly ate her tongue from her mouth; however, she didn’t have a speech impedement. You would have never known her defective tongue unless you saw her try to stick it out. I’ll never forget witnessing her pounce the poop out of her husband’s ex-wife. Dorothy had pulled out of Bomart’s and followed us to Durham. She passed us and slammed on her breaks in front of us. Back in those days, there was no seatbelt law and I went flying into the truck’s dashboard. I’ve witnessed my mother being angry on several occasions; however, lunatical, raging, stomping mad is how I’d describe her on this particular day. Mom and Dorothy duked it out with hair pulling, scratching, punching and kicking. No doubt about it, mom was the clear winner of that scuffle. She definitely laid down a can of whoop ass on her. I was impressed with her strength for such a small woman. I couldn’t tell you how many people have told me that they wouldn’t want to get my mother on their bad side. I don’t blame them…it’s not a pretty sight. She has a mighty bark and bite. The woman is tough as a boot and quite a little scrapper.
My mom is the most loving, supportive, dedicated and hard-working woman that I’ve ever known. We may not always see things eye to eye, but I value her opinion above anyone’s. I may not always please her with my actions, but she has always been the most supportive regardless of what I’ve done. I may not enjoy having to listen to a lecture from her, but if she was not around—-I’d miss her like no other. We talk to each other at least twice a day if not more. As she says,”You could count on your one hand and not fill it up with the true friends you have in life.” She is absolutely correct. I’m thankful that I can call her my friend as well as my mother.