My mother was born in 1925, the twelth child of thirteen children born to farming parents in southeastern Ohio. Her dad became a mail carrier during the depression along with farming, and with 6 boys, there was plenty of help to keep the farm going. They were not really poor, but just barely managed to get by until the later years when a coal company bought the mineral rights to strip mine coal on the farm. By then, most of the children had grown and left for their own persuits. Many of the boys had joined the military for WWll.
Mom met my father after he came back from the war and they married and settled into farming in southeastern Ohio. They had 6 kids (three boys and three girls) before they divorced. My father skipped to Texas and left mon with 6 children under the age of 6 to avoid paying the court ordered child support. Mom settled us into a small town to raise us for the next 20 years.
My earliest memories of mom were of her reading to us children in the evenings. I don’t ever remember her ever reading children’s books to us. It was always adult books such as Little Women, Pat of Silver Bush (and the rest of that series), history novels and biographies, and Zane Grey westerns. Us kids developed a love of books early on, and often read above our grade level.
I don’t remember when mom taught me to pray the bedtime prayer, but she said that it was halarious as she said to repeat, “Now I lay me down to sleep”. and I said, “Now mommy lays her down to sleep” and then, “No. Now Wayne lays Wayne down to sleep” and so forth. Or the time my grandfather told mom that I was so cute I should have been a girl, to which she told me that I said, “Nahah, I too ornrey”. Nor do I remember the time at 4 years old I walked the railroad tracks for 1 mile to get a neighbor’s help when my youngest brother was born. Those are only part of memories my mother told me later.
At first, I didn’t know how poor we were, but I remember my mother recieving boxes of used clothes from neighbors. I remember her sewing patches on the knees of jeans (she always sewed both knees even if only one needed patched so they would match). I remember her hands smoothing patterns on bolts of cloth to make special dresses for my sisters or sewing buttons on shirts that were missing buttons.
Mom never had a manicure or painted fingernails. Her hands were worn and rough from planting and weeding a garden to feed us kids. They were reddened from washing to keep us with clean clothes. But they were always gentle when her hands touched us, when she smoothed our hair, or bandgaged a cut. But they were strong when we needed a swat on the rear to keep us in line, too.
Mom loved music and we always had a radio tuned to a country music station (the only station we could recieve clearly in the small town). She loved Tennessee Earnie Ford, Eddie Arnold, Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton, Ed Ames, Conway Twitty, George Jones, Kenny Rogers,Tammy Wynette and Loretta Lyn, among others. We often listened to the WWVA Jamboree and the Grand Old Oprey. But she was also hip to Perry Como, Dean Martin, Elvis, Patty Page, Doris Day, Connie Francis, and Jan and Dean, and the Beach Boys and many others of the 50s and 60s.
When we children grew older, a real treat was New Year’s Eve. She taught us to dance (even me with my two left feet) to the “big bands” as the radio played across the nation from New York to Chicago or St. Louis or New Orleans, to Denver, and then to San Francisco. They played the songs of Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, Count Basie, and others. We usually stayed up for New Year’s Eve in four different time zones. And her energy was amazing as she seemed to always be dancing.
Mom and I also developed a love for the Pittsburg Pirates during the 1960 World Series against the NY Yankees. We listened to the series on the radio and were amazed when Bill Mazeroski hit the winning home run in the 7th game. And from then on, we used to sit up listening to the Pirates’ games and playing cards. I could almost shuffle cards like a Las Vagas blackjack dealer (ha, ha, not)!
Mom worked all her life and in her latter years, she decided to finish her college education which had been interrupted during the war. At age 75, she graduated from college with associate degrees in microcomputers and in accounting. She was the oldest graduate in her class and at that community college also.
But most of all, I remember mom praying. I often caught her with her head bowed and her hands clasped. When she thought nobody was looking I often saw her stop and say a small prayer silently. When I would ask her what she was praying for, she would just smile and said, “Just thanking god for you kids” or “Just praying for strength”, or something like that. By then, I knew that her life was hard and her concerns for the wellbeing of us kids was uppremost in her mind. But those hands and her trust in God was enough to get her (and us) through.
Mom died in 2004 and I still miss her, as I imagine many of you here miss your deceased parents. But my memories are mostly of the good times we shared and those hands were always there to give confort and help to everyone, and her faith that God heard her prayers as she clasped her hands and prayed. I leave you with this song from George Jones: