Readers: I am off this week. In honor of Mother’s Day, we are re-running a tribute I wrote in to my mother in 2008, when I was editor of The Bay City Times.
I've put it off for almost 30 years, for a variety of reasons. First, one man's heartfelt tribute is prone to be another man's “sappy.” That's why Hallmark sells 1,600 varieties of Mother's Day cards.
Second, Rose Mary Hiner is a Times subscriber, one who notably will be at my dinner table later today. What's the upside to writing about her?
And last, it takes a good decade of baking – including many years in the cauldron of parenthood oneself – before the souffle of appreciation rises fully.
Funny thing is, much of what I'm thankful for doesn't fit into greeting card sentiment. They are small and personal moments, little tiles in a mosaic that only I can fully see.
But maybe, in their nature more than their details, you'll see your own mother, and your own gratitude.
I'm grateful for this little film clip in my mind of Mom, home for lunch on a summer day, running down the middle of our street in a skirt and high heels, trying to get my kite aloft.
I'm grateful for the clean house, the hot meals (always with side dishes), the folded clothes throughout childhood – all while she worked in jobs outside of the house.
I'm grateful that, the first time I rationalized "a C is average" at report card time, her retort was: "But you're above average." That line, of course, is a fixture in my parenting arsenal.
I'm grateful that she made it a point, while I was a teenager, to teach me how to cook a decent breakfast, and how to properly wash clothes.
I'm grateful for the independence she fostered in her children. On my way out the door to go to college she said, "You can bring your laundry home, but don't call home asking for money."
I'm grateful now – wasn't then – that the first day home on a five-week winter break she woke me before sunrise and drove me to the factory where I worked the previous summer, on the chance they'd take me back. To my immense irritation, they did.
I'm grateful that for my first newspaper awards banquet, she went as my date.
I'm grateful for the card I got in the mail from her when my first wife and I separated. In sum, it said, "You'll be OK."
I'm grateful she's a reader. I'm even grateful for her constructive criticism. She's always set a high standard for herself, and there's never been any confusion about whether it applied to me.
I'm grateful for her admission that she still worries every day about her three children. Of course, you tell her not to fret, but the knowledge that she does fills you with abiding comfort.
"You never stop being a mother," she told me.
For that, I am eternally grateful. I'll even put it in writing.
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