Great recollections of life lessons from Mom. She locked me out of the house once, for some transgression that I can't recall now. It was terrifying, and it seemed like hours before I was allowed back in. It must have been in Denver, before we moved to the tiny duplex at 1491 Brown St. in Des Plaines, Il. The upstairs bedroom you described was cold, and I remember willing my body to produce heat to stay warm. I was literally allergic to the place, something about pet dander left from a previous tenant. I got very sick there for several days, mom nursing me back to health, and I spent my recovery gluing stamps in my stamp book and listening to the AM radio.
There was a knife sharpening man who pushed a cart around the neighborhoods that alerted folks he was coming with a bell on the cart that would ring as he moved along. It slowly sounded "shhhook-ding!, shhhook-ding!, shhhook-ding!"
I inherited the cooking gene from Mom as well, and spent a lot of time with her in the kitchen, getting positive reinforcement by getting to lick the beaters and bowl from the mixer.
Locked out? You could have only been 7 or 8, right? I remember our bedroom in Des Plaines where the three of us slept. He got so mad at me one night because we were horsing around, getting dressed before we were going out somewhere. I got dressed in the wrong order, either pants first or shirt first; I can't remember. He flew into a rage. Do you remember that Dad sold real estate?
Love this, Jeff. Your alternate reality of sitting on the landing at 75 made me laugh out loud! What a pleasure to witness your deeper dives in your writing. Wonderful.
Jeff, it's striking how our truest inheritance in this fragile humanity isn't physical stuff, but the complicated emotional architecture our parents leave behind. That sweater on the landing wasn't just wool; it was her blueprint for control in a world that had likely given her very little. It takes immense grace to look back at her rigid boundaries and realize they were just the armor shielding a fierce, unspoken love—one that finally, unmistakably found its voice on that birthday card.
Thanks, Dennis. Unfortunately, Mom told us very late in her life what her father and priest did to her. It provided potential context for her behaviors. I was finally able to accept that both my parents did the best they could.
She could not tell you becaue you were not her only one one. Whether we like to admit or not, we humans have limits. Not necessarily emotional limits, but biological ones. She saw you. But she did not have the emotional bandwirdth to appreciate you in "the moment.". Not because she did not care, but because she was outnumbered. So when she found the sentiment in written word, she shared it with you. Very sweet that you saved the card.
Jeff, I wondered if by chance you still have that sweater? Neatly folded, of course. Parents really do have a peculiar way of showing love for us, do they not? I'm sure your mom wanted you to strive for the very best, and the sweater was a substantive object for that in her mind. With ten of us my mom was far too busy to care how a sweater was folded, but the downside of that was she had little resource or time to truly show us what craft and detail could mean. Thanks for the essay.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure it wasn't about the sweater, and no, I don't have it anymore. Darn! I'll bet you all had chores, though, didn't you, Byron? Thanks for reading and sharing.
As second of ten, I had numerous chores. Looking back, I wish I'd taken more of them. I'm not at all sure how they managed, frankly. Thanks for reading.
Humor & pathos glued together with a whole lotta love.
As a survivor I particularly admire how deftly you handled the taking in your mom's life.
As the eldest of 7 who learned how to be Chief Cook & Bottlewasher (& vacuum-er) I had to laugh at how many times mom showed me how to precisely fold a mitered corner when making my bed. It served me well in the Navy; I could bounce a quarter off the made bed - the bedding was that taut.
Your whining about the folded sweater ending up on the floor reminded me of a younger brother who was maybe 5 at the time - demanding something at the table & upon being told he had to say "May I please" to get what he wanted cried through tears, "I don't know how to say may I please."
This was a very interesting story to me. I have such mixed feelings about both parents, now long ago passed. Your story made me realize that the word "love" was not really in our family's vocabulary, and even now I use it sparingly.
Eventually, I had to meet both parents where they were. That realization didn't necessarily come when they were alive. Ultimately, they did the best they could. Thanks for reading and responding, Carol.
Back in 2020, I met someone who reminded me of my mother - not physically but metaphysically - very similar spirituality and vibe. All of a sudden, I found myself wishing I had been able to meet her where she was. Unfortunately, I don't think that was possible. But I do think more fondly of her and would have liked to talk with her about what's happening in the world - I think she'd understand.
Oh wow, Jeff. Just beautiful and poignant (reaching for Kleenex). So much detail...and heart. Bravo.
Thanks, Debbie. Time, reflection, and therapy at work!
Great recollections of life lessons from Mom. She locked me out of the house once, for some transgression that I can't recall now. It was terrifying, and it seemed like hours before I was allowed back in. It must have been in Denver, before we moved to the tiny duplex at 1491 Brown St. in Des Plaines, Il. The upstairs bedroom you described was cold, and I remember willing my body to produce heat to stay warm. I was literally allergic to the place, something about pet dander left from a previous tenant. I got very sick there for several days, mom nursing me back to health, and I spent my recovery gluing stamps in my stamp book and listening to the AM radio.
There was a knife sharpening man who pushed a cart around the neighborhoods that alerted folks he was coming with a bell on the cart that would ring as he moved along. It slowly sounded "shhhook-ding!, shhhook-ding!, shhhook-ding!"
I inherited the cooking gene from Mom as well, and spent a lot of time with her in the kitchen, getting positive reinforcement by getting to lick the beaters and bowl from the mixer.
Locked out? You could have only been 7 or 8, right? I remember our bedroom in Des Plaines where the three of us slept. He got so mad at me one night because we were horsing around, getting dressed before we were going out somewhere. I got dressed in the wrong order, either pants first or shirt first; I can't remember. He flew into a rage. Do you remember that Dad sold real estate?
Love this, Jeff. Your alternate reality of sitting on the landing at 75 made me laugh out loud! What a pleasure to witness your deeper dives in your writing. Wonderful.
Thank you, Sarah. I wish I had come to appreciate earlier who my parents could be and were, but... The writing helps with that.
Jeff, it's striking how our truest inheritance in this fragile humanity isn't physical stuff, but the complicated emotional architecture our parents leave behind. That sweater on the landing wasn't just wool; it was her blueprint for control in a world that had likely given her very little. It takes immense grace to look back at her rigid boundaries and realize they were just the armor shielding a fierce, unspoken love—one that finally, unmistakably found its voice on that birthday card.
Thanks, Dennis. Unfortunately, Mom told us very late in her life what her father and priest did to her. It provided potential context for her behaviors. I was finally able to accept that both my parents did the best they could.
She could not tell you becaue you were not her only one one. Whether we like to admit or not, we humans have limits. Not necessarily emotional limits, but biological ones. She saw you. But she did not have the emotional bandwirdth to appreciate you in "the moment.". Not because she did not care, but because she was outnumbered. So when she found the sentiment in written word, she shared it with you. Very sweet that you saved the card.
Jeff, I wondered if by chance you still have that sweater? Neatly folded, of course. Parents really do have a peculiar way of showing love for us, do they not? I'm sure your mom wanted you to strive for the very best, and the sweater was a substantive object for that in her mind. With ten of us my mom was far too busy to care how a sweater was folded, but the downside of that was she had little resource or time to truly show us what craft and detail could mean. Thanks for the essay.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure it wasn't about the sweater, and no, I don't have it anymore. Darn! I'll bet you all had chores, though, didn't you, Byron? Thanks for reading and sharing.
As second of ten, I had numerous chores. Looking back, I wish I'd taken more of them. I'm not at all sure how they managed, frankly. Thanks for reading.
Love this story. I can see the tears in your eyes and feel your sweater-folding pain. Thanks for sharing!
A good one! Thanks for sharing.
I wonder how Bro Bill would write this one.
This is one of your very best, Jeff!
Humor & pathos glued together with a whole lotta love.
As a survivor I particularly admire how deftly you handled the taking in your mom's life.
As the eldest of 7 who learned how to be Chief Cook & Bottlewasher (& vacuum-er) I had to laugh at how many times mom showed me how to precisely fold a mitered corner when making my bed. It served me well in the Navy; I could bounce a quarter off the made bed - the bedding was that taut.
Your whining about the folded sweater ending up on the floor reminded me of a younger brother who was maybe 5 at the time - demanding something at the table & upon being told he had to say "May I please" to get what he wanted cried through tears, "I don't know how to say may I please."
Keep on remembering & writing, friend.
Your brother's cry was priceless. Thanks for sharing, Diane.
This was a very interesting story to me. I have such mixed feelings about both parents, now long ago passed. Your story made me realize that the word "love" was not really in our family's vocabulary, and even now I use it sparingly.
Thanks for sharing your story.
Eventually, I had to meet both parents where they were. That realization didn't necessarily come when they were alive. Ultimately, they did the best they could. Thanks for reading and responding, Carol.
Back in 2020, I met someone who reminded me of my mother - not physically but metaphysically - very similar spirituality and vibe. All of a sudden, I found myself wishing I had been able to meet her where she was. Unfortunately, I don't think that was possible. But I do think more fondly of her and would have liked to talk with her about what's happening in the world - I think she'd understand.
It's helped me to think of my parents watching my shift in perspective. Maybe your mom is, too.
Thanks, Kay. I'd be curious how Bro Bill would have written this one.