I’ve known her my entire life. She’s known me for over half of hers.
We were inseparable for about nine months of both of our lives. We were together constantly, and I made her life a living nightmare. I was constantly poking her in the ribs with my feet.
I guess you could say I’ve been a nuisance for about thirty-three years. I contributed to quite a few of her gray hairs. Not as many as my siblings, though. Ha!
She was born in the, uh, well, the same year the Ford Mustang was unveiled at the World’s Fair in Flushing Meadows, New York.
I would say the two have a lot in common. I know it sounds weird to compare my mom to a car but hear me out.
They both debuted in the same year. They are sporty, powerful, and tough. I hope this man doesn’t have a Facebook, but in middle school, someone teased my mom’s sister about something and hurt her feelings. Mom chased him down and beat him up. That was during the fastback era.
Of course, she had to be tough. She went through a lot of hard times. It was either get tough or get trampled.
One time, I was about ten years old, a man walked into our yard in the middle of the day and threatened me (we won’t divulge the details because that’s not the point of this story), but she came out there, and when he started threatening, she bowed up and pointed her finger in his face and said if he didn’t walk off the property of his own volition, the paramedics would carry him off. It was his choice. He chose wisely.
I remember back in the early 2000s, she felt like the Lord wanted her to fast for two weeks. I know you’re not supposed to discuss those kinds of things, but here we are. I know that’s not an uncommon thing to do. I’ve heard stories about others doing that, and I’ll tell those stories if I ever find the opportunity. I felt sorry for her having to cook for us during that time. And she stuck it out.
She used to work the night shift but would make it a point to take us to the lake or river during the summer. I don’t know how she did it. She would lie on one of those adjustable chairs and take a nap. Then we would load up and drive home, and she’d cook supper. I don’t know if she ever got some real rest during those days.
I know this isn’t a sappy post, but Mom isn’t a sappy type of person. I bought her a dozen roses one year for Mother’s Day, and she put them in the garage.
I’m in Mexico right now. I wrote this post several days ago and scheduled it for today because it’s her birthday. I probably won’t see her reaction to it until next Tuesday, when I get back to the States. Mom, if you don’t like it, there’s always next year. Or I can rewrite it when I get back.
Happy Birthday, Mom. Thanks for always being there.
to my Mother,
– Caleb
caneymountainblog.com 