It's hard to believe my mother was born almost 106 years old. Along with my wife, she was the sweetest and kindest person I've ever met.
Like her father, she was usually quiet and gentle, but she became an active volcano when agitated. Of course, being a near-saint, I never aroused her anger, but my sisters often ticked her off way past the breaking point. (If you believe this, I have some prime swampland to sell to you.)
Once she became so angry with them that she smacked the top of the dining room table with her paddle until pieces of varnish chipped off. After cooling down, she realized Dad would not be a happy camper if he discovered the damage done to his furniture. Therefore, Mom quickly re-varnished the tabletop, all the while hoping it would dry before the boss arrived. Just to be on the safe side, she made certain we ate in the kitchen that evening.
Mom was removed from school after finishing the eighth grade. The explanation was that she “had trouble learning.” Perhaps she did have some learning disabilities, but she wasn't lacking in smarts. In fact, she had what might be called a photographic memory. Amazingly, she remembered even the smallest, most insignificant details.
A relative or friend might ask a simple question about someone, but would also learn about that person's date of birth, from where and when they graduated, all kinds of information about their spouse, the date and place of the marriage (including the names of the attendants), the names and birth dates of their children and great-grandchildren, the person's occupation, and when and where they worked. Maybe I'm not her biological child, for I'm lucky to remember my own name.
Mom believed in justice. If a child misbehaved, he (as in I) should be punished in a way in which he would feel some pain. Her favorite instrument to administer justice was a paddle ball minus the ball. On one particular occasion, she began pounding my backside with a paddle, but it broke in half (the paddle, not my backside, thank goodness.)
She pulled another one out of the drawer, but could not find a pair of scissors to cut the string. Using her teeth didn't work; neither did yanking on it. So she commenced pounding on me with the ball and string intact. As the ball bounced around crazily, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
I had learned early in this game to pretend each whack with the paddle was causing excruciating pain. If she felt one suffered for his sins, she was not apt to tell Dad about the misdeed. If, however, one showed no pain, she would blabber to the old man. When he pounded on you with his big thick leather belt, you automatically showed extreme, and I mean extreme pain. That was to be avoided at all costs.
At least in one way, Mom was ahead of her time. One of my doctors told me about the importance of regular exercise. Well, for as long as I can remember, she walked just about every place, often even several miles to town and back.
When I was just an infant, Dad took his family to the fairgrounds. With the four kids piled into the back seat, he gave Mom one-time directions. He showed her the various gears and demonstrated the use of the clutch, brakes, and accelerator. Then he put her behind the wheel.
Dad had many virtues, but unfortunately for his wife, patience was not one of them. Every time she killed the engine, made the car lunge along like a giant frog, or hit a rut in the road, he let loose with a string of expletives. After one trip around the horse racing track, she stopped, turned off the engine, and pulled the brake. After handing him the keys, Mom declared she would never attempt to drive again. It's too bad she didn't have a more patient instructor; even Attila the Hun would have been a better choice.
My mother was one of the most decent and giving human beings I've ever had the pleasure to know. Only one time in her life was she selfish. She died on January 1, 1997, at the age of 77, and that was not enough. Perhaps being selfish myself, I would have loved having her around at least a few years longer. Rest in peace; remember that your kids love you, and by the way, thanks for those wonderful cookies with the jelly filling. I wish you could send me the recipe.
