I had the meanest mother
in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to
have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch,
I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than
the other kids' also.
But at least, I wasn't alone
in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as
I did.
My mother insisted upon knowing
where we were at all times. You'd think we were on a chain gang. She had
to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we
said we'd be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less--not one hour
and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck
us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased.
That poor belt was
used more on our seats than
it was to hold up Daddy's pants. Can you imagine someone actualy hitting
a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she
really was.
We had to wear clean clothes
and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We
reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just
to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel
different from our friends?
The worst is yet to come.
We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning.
We couldn't sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother
actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work.
We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel
things. I believe she laid
awake at night thinking
up mean things to do to us.
She always insisted upon
us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if
it killed us - and it nearly did.
By the time we were teen-agers,
she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this
tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to
no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I
spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to
see if I were really there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico.
That is if I'd had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while
my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned
mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that
is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice
a year.
Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends' report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks.
As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.
My mother was a complete
failure as a mother. Out of four children, a couple of us attained some
higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten
his mate. Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this country.
And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You're
right, our
mean mother. Look at the
things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take
part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that
our friends did.
She forced us to grow up
into God-fearing, educated, honest adults. Using this as a background,
I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am
filled with pride when my children call me mean.
Because, you see, I thank
God, He gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.
Bobbie Pingaro (1967)
Some beautiful poems for Mums
My Mother's
garden
Mother
When God made Mothers
Mother, the beautiful creature
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