The Meanest Mother
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.
-written by Bobbie Pingaro (1967)
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