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(L-R) Mama, me, her best friend Doris Durango
Loving,
Often Funny, Memories of My Mom
by
Peggy McIlveene
Last year, when Mama was being honored, I was
suddenly at a loss for words (imagine that!).
I’ve never been talented at giving impromptu speeches, so I
thought I’d type up what’s on my mind. What
does my Mom mean to me?
Mom—One of My Best Friends:
First of all, my Mom is a wonderful friend to me. We talk a WHOLE lot… always have. Besides that, we have a lot in common. We’re both strong believers in Jesus. We both love Christmas carols and Christmas shows. We used to sing them in the kitchen while Mama washed the dishes and I dried them. I learned the alto to a bunch of Christmas carols in the choir at school, and thought Mom & I were regular virtuosos!
Mom—My Spiritual Teacher:
She (& Dad, but this letter’s about Mom) taught me about Jesus before I really understood what it was all about. They taught me about Jesus, Christianity, honor, morals, treating others fairly, faith, etc. The first church I actually remember going to was Aunt Lois & Uncle Monkey’s Methodist church. I still remember that they were in the process of renovating or rebuilding, because you could see the piping on what would become their ceiling. Then, not too long after that, we started going to Rittenhouse Baptist Church. Some things you never forget, no matter how old you get. I learned a tremendous amount from going to Rittenhouse, and still remember the B-attitudes that I had to learn for one of my GA coronations… and that was a LOOOOOONG time ago!!! J
Mom—The Disciplinarian:
She was also the disciplinarian. She could wield a willow switch with the best of them! And, of course, I had little bird legs, so it would sting when it hit, then sting when it wrapped around. Of course that didn’t keep me from fighting it every inch of the way! J When I was little, and we’d be over at Aunt Reine’s, she would get mad at me, and tell me to go get a willow switch so she could spank me. I was quite young at the time (and about the size of a minute), and wrongly assumed (I thought Mama was too heavy to keep up with my “swift” self) that if I took off running around and around Aunt Reine’s house, she would tire out waaaaaaaay before I would, and then she’d forget about spanking me… NOT! I’d be on about my 25th trip around the house, and I would start slowing down. I had a ponytail down my back, and as I’d slow my pace (Mama was STILL keeping up with me at her steady pace), my ponytail would fly out behind me. Mama would grab it, and that would be all she wrote! Of course, when she DID spank me, I’d be steadily telling her it didn’t hurt and that I hated her! By the way, Mom, I don’t!
Mom—Chief Cook & Bottle Washer:
She was also chief waitress at
home. I used to have a yard
full of my friends (which were mostly my age or close to it) in the yard
playing all day long during the summer and before I started school.
I remember getting hungry or thirsty, and I’d bring the entire
crew to our back window and yell for Mama, “We’re hungry, can we
have some sandwiches?” Mama
would make every one of us a sandwich, rather than sending them home to
eat. Or, “We’re
thirsty, can we have a drink?”, and she’d hand out a dozen or so
glasses (that she had to handwash) of water or Kool-Aid out the kitchen
window.
Mom—My Champion:
She also taught me how to protect myself.
When I was in elementary school, I rode the bus home every day. There was a guy who was in my class who used to always make sure
he got to stand by me on the bus. He
was forever shaking his fist in my face (my face was about 2-3 feet
below HIS face, mind you!), and telling me he was going to hit me.
After several days of this, I got tired of it, and told Mama. She said next time he threatens me like that, make a fist and
punch him first before he can punch me. Next day, same story… he sidled up next to me and put his fist
in my face. I balled up my
fist and gave him an uppercut, right in the nose. His nose started gushing blood.
The bus driver pulled over and asked what happened. He told her that I punched him, so she asked me what happened.
I told her exactly what had happened and that my Mama told me to
do that. She fussed at him
for threatening me, and he steered clear of me the rest of the time.
Come to find out, he liked me, but was shy, and that was the way
he showed me he liked me! Boys
are SO weird!!! I probably
traumatized the poor boy, and he’ll forever think he has to let women
beat on him if he likes them!!!
J
Mom—My Babysitter:
She was my babysitter for years and years. I don’t know what we would have done without her! We were poor as church mice, and couldn’t afford child care. Not to mention, your children can NEVER get care like that anywhere but Grammy’s house!
Mom—The Patient One:
My Mom had the patience of Job when I was growing
up!!! I ALWAYS had to know
‘why?’ or ‘what?’ or ‘when?’ or ‘how?’ or
‘where?’… mostly ‘why?’ Every
time she’d tell me to do something, I’d ask “But WHY, Mama???”
And she’d say, “Cuz I SAID so!” Guess what my next question was?
“But WHY, Mama???”
J
Mom—The Perfect Parent (& Dad—The OTHER
Perfect Parent):
And every day of my life, I thank God they adopted me. There are no more perfect role models than they are. They never drank, smoked, very little cursing (sorry, guys!). They are ALWAYS honest, loving, caring, Christian role models, understanding… well, ‘nuff said!
I love you dearly, Mama!
Peggy