Tuesday, May 9, 2023
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I was in Mrs. Lennon’s third grade class when I got called down to the principal’s office for the first time (but not the last time). There stood my mother. She walked one-half mile to my elementary school from home. Back then, she did not have a car. There was a major crisis at home and she came to the school to get me as fast as she could. Panicked, she franticly signs me out of school for the day.
On the brisk walk back home, all she told me was she did not know what to do. It turns out, this was a problem that only an 8-year-old boy could solve for his momma.
The months of planning, negotiating, scheming, pleading, and praying by my dad and me, finally came to fruition: Tiger, my mail order pet chameleon arrived that day, complete with a cup of live mealworms. It did not take long for the two of them to become friends. She seemed to enjoy watching him turn from brown to green as she held him in the palm of her hands for the first time.
My mom would tell that story to family and neighbors for years, laughing about it in retrospect.
She also had a sense of humor and loved a good joke. The best ones were the ones where she would belly laugh before she got to the punchline.
My mom was generous to others in need. I recall a neighborhood friend of mine who could not afford senior pictures or the yearbook when we graduated high school. She was adamant that Kent have his pictures and yearbook, so she paid for it. Back then, the price of the yearbook alone could feed a family of four for a week. To her, this graduation ritual was just as important as putting food on the table. And she refused to take no for an answer. Kent never forgot what she did for him, and her act of unselfish kindness makes me proud.
Some years later, when we were both still young, she reluctantly asked to go for a ride on my motorcycle. She wore my leather jacket and put the helmet on tight. Before we mounted up, I talked her through how to get on the bike, how to sit, how to hold on, and how to lean with the bike. So far, she was good to go.
I started up the Harley. That famous Harley-Davidson big twin engine roared to life as loud as thunder. Her eyes got real wide. I had not seen that look of panic from her since the third grade when the mailman delivered Tiger the chameleon to our front door.
Now, 30 years later, she took a deep breath and got on that bike. And we rode. After a few miles of taking it slow and easy she tapped me on the shoulder and yelled in my ear, “can you make this thing go FASTER?”
After a good long ride, we swore she was going to get a bike of her own. My mom, the biker chick.
These are a few of things I remember about my mother that make me smile. She showed me how to bravely face fear by knowing it will turn out just fine.
Her children turned out just fine too. She raised a beautiful, intelligent, and successful daughter. To be fair, Jamilyn is the youngest and my mom had plenty of practice dealing with Dave and me before Jamie came along.
Dave is the handsome, brilliantly talented, and successful son that would make any mother proud. He is a good man, and she raised him right.
Looking back, I realize my momma worked her ass off making sure her three kids were polite, respectful, clean, had nice clothes to wear, and had three good meals a day growing up. Her only rule was to be home for supper before dad gets home from work.
She taught me to have a sense of humor, help others in need, and to try new things. Her lessons became her children’s lessons to our children, the grandchildren are her legacy.
In the spirit of Sharlyn Kathleen Shrier-Stephens, go hold a lizard in your hands, tell a dirty joke at your next family gathering, make sure some kid doesn’t go without, and take that thrill ride you always dreamed of. And thank your momma for what she taught you.
