To My Mother, on Mother's Day

To My Mother

on Mother's Day

 “A mother is the truest friend we have,
when trials, heavy and sudden, fall upon us;
when adversity takes the place of prosperity;
when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine,
desert us when troubles thicken around us,
still will she cling to us,
and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels
to dissipate the clouds of darkness,
and cause peace to return to our hearts.”  

 ~ Washington Irving

Children, look in those eyes, listen to that dear voice,
notice the feeling of even a single touch
that is bestowed upon you by that gentle hand!
Make much of it while yet you have that
most precious of all good gifts, a loving mother.
Read the unfathomable love of those eyes;
the kind anxiety of that tone and look,
however slight your pain.
In after life you may have friends, fond, dear friends,
but never will you have again
the inexpressible love and gentleness
lavished upon you, which none but a mother bestows.
~ Thomas B. Macaulay

 ^^^^^^^^^
That is my mother.
Then. Now. And every day in between.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

I love you with all my heart.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Happy Birthday to my wonderful, phenomenal mother! 

Before I tell you a totally cool story about her early career days, let me tell you why she's my wonderful, phenomenal mother: Because she was there. Always. And she still is. Not just for us kids, but our kids, too. 

She was and is a great role model in every way. I wrote about that in "Who's Your Role Model." And this is where I pick up on the career tale ...

So. The story. My mother was one of the first two women in the Leon County Schools to serve as an elementary education administrator. Mom served as an assistant principal in several Leon County elementary schools, including Oak Ridge.

It was all going swimmingly until she and her colleague learned that their male counterparts were making a lot more money than they made! So, the two women confronted the superintendent of schools about equal pay. (Go, Mom!) The conversation went something like this:

The superintendent said, "Well, you don't make as much because I figure you wouldn't be doing the same kinds of things the men would do." (Remember, this would have been in the late 60s.)

My mom replied: "What assignments wouldn't we do? Are you aware that on one occasion I escorted a sheriff's deputy to a classroom so he could take a 5th grader into custody?" 

Did I say, "Go, Mom!" yet? Oh, it gets better!

My mother continued: "And are you aware that one of our students was crossing campus with a pistol in his hand and intending to shoot one of our teachers? I stopped him and confiscated his gun, a .38. Now, what is it that we wouldn't do?"

Whoa! That's my mother!

You rocked it then and you rock it now!

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Who’s Your Role Model?

I was reading a blog post the other day that my friend Niki Pocock wrote, “My Role Models Aren’t Your Role Models,” about Generation Y role models. In it, she asks, “Who was/is your childhood role model?”

It got me thinking.

But first. I’m not Generation Y. I was born in 1965, on the cusp of Baby Boomer and Generation X. My three siblings are solidly part of the Baby Boomer generation (born in 1955, 1958 and 1959), and my parents are Traditionalists. When I read descriptions of Boomers, GenX and GenY, I know I’m a tiny bit Boomer, a whole lot GenX, and somehow, more than a little bit GenY. That’s my generational filter. 

Hangin' on to Mom, circa 1968.

That said, as cliché as this will sound: My mother was and still is my No. 1 Role Model.

Traditionalist women mostly grew up, got married, and raised their families (and there is nothing wrong with that!). But my mom earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees in home economics, worked summers as a waitress at the Tick Tock Inn on Rehoboth Beach, DE, and landed a teaching job after she finished college.

No small feat when you know that my mom’s family (parents and two older brothers) were hit hard by the Great Depression and, when my mother was 5, her father died from complications of pneumonia. Her mother remarried a few years later to great man, and the only grandfather (maternal and paternal sides) my siblings and I ever knew. But her early years were not easy. Still, she managed. And managed well.

Mom started her career in education teaching middle school. She and Dad married in 1952, moved to Tallahassee in 1953, and had their first child (my sister) in 1955. They had their second and third children, both boys, in 1958 and 1959. (Yeah, they’re 360 days apart!)

After staying home on-and-off while us kids were young, mom would return to her career as a teacher and school administrator. She was assistant principal for the curriculum at two elementary schools and a middle school. In between, she oversaw elementary-school curriculum for our school district.

Her career was a mix of Traditional and Generation X. She served the same employer – the Leon County Schools – for almost 40 years, like a good Traditionalist. But like a good GenXer would do, she mixed it up working in a variety of positions – teacher, vice principal, district administrator, and mixed it up more by working at both the elementary-school and middle-school levels.

Mom, summer 2010.

Over her 40-year career, mom (and Dad, a little … he was very Traditional in the sense that he didn’t participate consistently in child-rearing and didn’t participate at all in housework) not only succeeded as a career woman, she was also a wonderful, wise and present mother. There and present at my brothers’ sports events and band concerts, at my sister’s choir performances, at my swim meets and horse shows. All the while, mom kept a robust circle of girlfriends. She is still there and present for us.

Oh. And? Mom always volunteered (and still does at 83). A lot. The Junior Woman's Club, Faith Presbyterian Church, Brehon Institute of Family Services, Alpha Delta Kappa, Faith Preschool, and I’m sure a dozen other organizations I can’t even remember.

OK. She didn’t do it all by herself, which makes her even wiser and more wonderful in my eyes. I’ve always known no mother (or father, for that matter) can or should do it all by herself. Whether her support is from a paid helper, a husband, the kids, or that robust circle of girlfriends, mothers (and fathers) need support to succeed and thrive.
 

Mom had help from a part-time housekeeper/sort-of nanny, Bessie, who cared for us after school and helped mom keep up with things like laundry, cleaning and cooking. (Mom readily admits to this day that she has no idea how mothers survive today because Bessie was her lifesaver.) As we got older, we kids chipped in, too. My sister (who is 10 years older) watched after me a lot. I cleaned the house and cooked more often as I got older. One brother (who later became a trained chef) cooked a lot of dinners. And the other brother drove me around a lot to piano and riding lessons.

My mom blazed a trail as one of her generation’s first career mothers. And she was great at it – her career and being our mother. My siblings and I are lucky, grateful kids.

Happy Mother's Day, and Merry Christmas

Yes, I know Mother's Day was Sunday and today is not Sunday. But I love my brother's Facebook post about our Christmas stockings so much, I begged him to please let me share it here. So, I give you my first guest blog. From my brother, Bob. 

Happy Mother's Day, and Merry Christmas

by Bob Thurston

Mother's Day is a good day to talk about Christmas stockings.

Every December 25, I dig into a stocking my mom knitted by hand before my first Christmas. My brother and sisters have one just like it. So do our spouses, kids and grandkids.

My favorite Christmas memory is of waking before dawn with my brother and sisters and plundering our stockings, knowing they held enough treasure to tide us over until breaking light made it safe to nag our parents out of bed to open presents. We rummaged through a king's ransom of knick-knacks and candy that stretched the red, green and white yarn of the stocking to its limit: distorting our knitted names at the top, distending Santa's angora-bearded face at the shin, and bulging the crossed candy canes at the arch.

Only now do I marvel at how it all got in. As a kid, I just dug and delighted, giggled and sighed, pulling out an astonishing assortment of the wondrous, the silly, the sentimental and the practical: candies and tree ornaments; puzzle books and playing cards; Matchbox cars and Army men; jacks and Slinkys; toiletries and school supplies; and a plump Florida orange nestled in the toe.

When we became parents, we learned the how-to. The orange is your anchor, and a magazine or a thin pack of notebook paper, tucked in around the calf, props the stocking open – the better for fitting in the bigger things. When those are all in place, you drop in the doohickeys and the thingamabobs.

Mom's other secret is Dickens: keep the Christmas spirit all year long. Bargain bins, clearance shelves, impulse items at check-out – stocking stuffer nirvana.

Through the years, those stockings have been stuffed and emptied, torn and mended, time after time.

They captivate our children and make children out of us.

And even after we've dug down to that orange in the toe, they overflow with a mother's love.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you.