Because my first wife and I divorced and remarried when our twin sons were young, our boys grew up with what they called “two moms and two dads.” Because the four of us parents attended parent-teacher meetings and other school events together,
and because we would, from time to time, talk on the phone
or in person about issues involving Austin and Zach, our boys also knew well our “united front,” and thought twice about playing one parent or set of parents against the others.
Now 21-year-old college juniors, Austin and Zach also were reared, in part, by four sets of grandparents; numerous aunts, uncles and cousins; and assorted teachers, administrators, coaches, directors and others. They epitomize the old proverb, “It takes a whole village to raise a child.”
Like my sons, I was influenced by lots of people, too. But mostly, I was raised by my mom. Like many of her counterparts in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, my mom’s endless, uncompensated (by money, anyway), often unheralded work was her family — first and foremost her three sons and one daughter. Because our dad traveled a lot, she was, in so many ways, our village. And we’re so blessed that in her mid-70s, she’s still here and healthy and able to see the fruits of her labor.
Mother’s Day is Sunday. I’ll be celebrating with mine. As for you, how ‘bout this: Between now and Sunday, post a comment. Tell us about your mom and what kind of village she built for you.
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Aww Bruce, no fair. This is irresistable…and I’ve got work to do!
My mother died when I was 5-years old, but my dad had the good sense to marry one of her close church friends, a fourth-grade teacher.
She generously took my two older brothers, younger sister and I under her considerable influence. She was a teacher through and through who made it her mission to teach us something daily.At the time, she referred to it as “training.”)
On her 80th birthday, I presented her with a list of 80 things she had taught me. The list was a humble start.
She’s been gone some years now, but I regularly see evidence of her teachings in my own adult daughters.The youngest is a first-grade teacher, and when she tells me stories of how she handles classroom situation, it takes my breath away to hear the Grandma Nao in her!
At my mother’s 75th birthday celebration, I raised a glass in her honor and talked of being at the point in my adult life where my contemporaries regularly lamented, “I’m turning into my mother.” I told my mother that it was the opposite I feared - that I wouldn’t turn into my mom; she’d set the bar too high.
I grew up in a village, literally. Our small town afforded fewer opportunities than the city in which I live today, but my mother set out to create what the village of Rockton didn’t provide. When our pre-school options were limited, my mother organized a group of like-minded SAHMs and created “Little School.” More than a playgroup or babysitting co-op, Little School had a robust schedule and curriculum. We field tripped to bakeries and a local dairy farm, marveling at the craftsmanship required to create a frog or flower out of frosting, and the realization that contents of the little cartons of milk we’d receive as kindergarteners originate from actual cows…ones we were seeing face-to-face.
My mom taught Sunday school and belonged to a home-grown investment club. She played bridge and served in varying roles in the garden club. When I entered first grade and she returned to work, she wrote the requisite letter to the principal, asking permission for my brother and I to spend our lunch hour at school (the exception back then), unpacking diagonal-cut Skippy sandwiches from our Peanuts lunch boxes. On days off, she visited our classrooms as a volunteer “picture lady” to hang a rotating collection of art on our cinderblock walls. When the program disbanded decades later, she bought framed cardboard print castoffs for my brother and I. An early Picasso hangs in my guestroom.
My mom’s village was grounded in responsibility, surrounded by love and shone under a blue sky of possibility. The doors were always open and as a result, the beds were always full - of overnight friends (my parents’ and ours), great aunts and uncles recuperating from cataract surgeries or a nasty bout of pneumonia. The coffee was always on and no matter how long her to-do list was that day, my mom always had time to sit for a visit and a self-deprecating laugh.
Compliments don’t come my way often, but the one worth waiting for is this:
“You remind me so much of your mom.”
Happy Mother’s Day.
Having a strong mother was my greatest influence. My Mom was the Mayor of our hometown. During the day she juggled the five kids and our various interests and at night she would hand us off to my Dad to attend to community business. She is my example of public service. And in this case, having a Dad who accepted the kid duty gladly gave my Mom the ability to be who she truly is - my role model. Love you Mom!
Bruce, you make people want to share their stories.
When asked if I could re-live my childhood … my response is always YES! My mom was THE BEST at raising three daughters. My dad was killed when we were of the ages four, five, and six. My mom beat all odds against her and raised us with the kindest hearts and a great deal of love and respect for others. She eventually remarried and we grew up with a terrific step-father. (We had awesome grandparents too.)
My mother is just 62 years old. This Mother’s Day will be a tough one. Last year, August 2008, she suffered a cardiac arrest. It left her without oxygen to her brain and she now has severe brain damage. She’s in what they call a “persistent vegetative state”. She did not suffer a heart attack or a stroke - so we have no idea what happened. We each take turns (based on our availability) and have been at her bedside every day since August 8th.
As our lives go on, we struggle to know why this happened and why it’s still happening to her. We still mourn the loss and yet everyday we can talk to her. We reminisce old stories and have to make fun of each others “caregiver abilities”. My older sister we call the “A” team and me and my little sister are the “B” team. We know she’s still teaching us right now - just not certain what it is.
She’s a cool mom! We share our journals with friends and family at http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/maryannetuttle (p.s. we’re still accepting prayers!)
My mother died when I was sixteen, leaving me and my two siblings (one older, one much younger) alone with a physically abusive father. I was so mad at her when she died because I felt like she should have done better for herself and by us. However, some of her last words to me were an encouragement. She told me that I was going to be the one that kept the family together, and I have never forgotten that. My father married two more times, once to a woman just a tad bit older than myself and, then, again to a woman whom he was married to when he died a couple of years ago. There was much division between my brothers and sisters over the years because of the various emotional wounds we each suffered; however, I always heard my mom’s words in my head and made it a mission to keep my family together. I was never very close to either of his wives, but I am proud to call my siblings two of the dearest people to me in this world. BUT, to answer your question, Bruce, the village my mother gave me was the gift of everlasting life. When I was 39, the age my mom was when she died, and I was pregnant with my third child (she left three behind) I was just hoping to make it through the year. It was a tough year for a whole host of reasons, but mostly because of a family crisis that was taking place. It was then that I became a Believer — not just a Christian, but a true Believer — and it changed my life completely. I forgave my father that year, and realized my journey would not have been what it was if my mom hadn’t died. What would have happened to me, to all of us, if my mom had not died and stayed married to my father? I attribute this “gift” — of being able to fully understand God’s plan for me — to my mother (and, well, God). I will celebrate joyously with my three children this and every Mother’s Day.
These stories are all so beautiful. I stand in awe. Thank you so much for sharing. And thanks to all the moms and stepmoms for giving. And hey, aren’t there some MEN out there willing to post a tribute to their moms and/or stepmoms?
Alright, here we go then.
I’ve always been able to relate to my mom much more than my dad. She’s the only other one in the house who reads for fun, and while we don’t like all the same books, there’s enough of an overlap that we can and have spent hours talking about one series or another, or how much we wish our favorite author would get off his butt and write a new installment.
She’s always been the “good cop” of the family too, the one we were never afraid to ask something of, and quite often she said yes, maybe even a few times when we didn’t quite deserve it.
Because of her job she’s always been the one who puts the bad guys away, and to this day I’m not afraid of a cop because they’re a cop, but because if I get a ticket or something, Mom will find out fast.
Attaboy, Alex. Thanks for demonstrating that the male of the species can wax sentimental, too–especially when it comes to talking about our moms!
Bruce…my apologies for being so slow! I had wanted to respond as soon as I read your column, but got chased off killing other wolves as they got closer to the fire…typical!
My Mom was the quintessential housewife of the 50’s…a stay-at-home Mom in Speedway, Indiana, who worked really hard to make sure my Dad could concentrate on his career and bringing home the bacon …but also ensuring that my two brothers and I got the “training” needed to become perfect gentlemen.
I owe the ease with which I got through Aviation Officer Candidate School to my Dad, who had a place for everything and expected everything in its place. But I owe a great deal of what I have become as a teacher, father, grandfather and professional to my Mom. I am the man I am today because of my Mom…and she gets smarter every day I’m alive!
My mom, like so many others, played such a strong role in my village. Her intellect and wicked sense of humor were two of her many qualities that I still miss so much today. Of course I didn’t realize how incredible she was until I was much older, and I have to laugh sometimes when my own children roll their eyes up in absolute amazement at some of the things that I am requiring of them…the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!
Ironically, it wasn’t until my mom had passed away from breast cancer that I began to realize all of the gifts that she’d given me while in the village. My mom (June) died exactly five weeks before my wedding, and there were many things that we talked about in the last year of her life. One of the things I can remember as if it were yesterday, was when she was recounting how blessed she was to have had five wonderful children. An unwavering and faithful Christian, she went on to say that she continued to thank God incessantly for allowing HER to have the cancer that would soon take her life. She said she couldn’t have imagined watching the disease take one of her own.
At the time, I was not yet married and was three years from becoming a mother. I had not a clue of the depth of love that a mother truly has. There is absolutely nothing like it. It is the stuff that the village is made of, and it is a love that is impermeable. My mother was amazing in so many ways, and I continue to learn from her daily. Thank you, Mom, for all that you gave my siblings and me while on this Earth and all that you continue to give!
My mom (and dad) really did raise me in a village. The village was called Milltown, Indiana with a total population of maybe 900. My total high school graduating class was only 32 so my mother knew every other mother personally. The village truly raised all of us.