I just recently returned from a trip to visit my mother in Collingwood, Ontario, Canada. I am a middle-aged man, just a few years from retirement, and Mother is 23 years older than me. She has been retired for many years now and lives simply in a small one-bedroom efficiency apartment near Wasaga Beach, one of the many beaches on Georgian Bay, sometimes called “The Sixth Great Lake.” Wasaga Beach was a place to hang out during the days of her youth and although she hasn’t been there for many, many years, there is a peace in knowing that she doesn’t live far from a place where many of her fond memories were made. They are memories from a life before her adult adventures began and before the burden of responsibility came to rest on her shoulders. As I made the 12-hour trek home I was alone in my thoughts and explored my own memories of the woman who was my first love.
“Michael! Come downstairs and finish those letters!” It was a few days after Christmas in my young life and I was enjoying the presents that I had just received. I always obtained gifts from my maternal grandparents, and there were several aunts and uncles that sent me cash in the mail each year. I received cards made out to “Master Michael Shoemaker” with an American five dollar bill inside. I would sometimes collect as much as $30 during the holidays from relatives from the north and I would spend what seemed like an eternity writing thank you notes to all of them. “Why do I have to write them all back, Mom?” I would ask. “It’s because you should thank people for sending you a gift and what better way is there than to write a letter? Besides, your grandma and your aunts always enjoy reading your letters!” It was a chore, writing those letters on lined paper. It felt much like homework and I would often sit for hours at the table with nothing much written on the page. It was my first experience with “writer’s block,” and Mother would walk close by every half hour to inspect my progress. “Keep at it . . . the words will come . . . and you will make your Aunt Grace and your Aunt Eileen happy with your thanks and thoughtful words.” Ugh.
As the years went by I got better at writing those letters. I could punch them out fairly quickly and she would spend less time editing them before mailing them out. She might suggest writing about the latest weather or describing the last Boy Scout merit badge that I had earned. We were on to other things now it seemed. Domestic jobs were on the agenda in my adolescence: Laundry, ironing, cooking, baking, & some cleaning took the place of writing. Mother taught me how to read a recipe card and make simple dishes like spaghetti and macaroni and cheese. I learned how to fry an egg at an early age and she would say “You’re ahead of your great grandpa! He never learned how to cook for himself and he would sit in the kitchen and wait for my grandmother to serve him every meal! That’s not going to happen with you!” My favorite domestic skill was baking as I always had a fondness for cookies (and still do to this day). Peanut butter cookies, oatmeal cookies, and Nestle Toll House cookies were favorites when we baked and the best part was eating them. Though I didn’t do a lot of laundry she taught me how to use both the washing machine and the dryer and I could also figure out the ones at the laundromat during the times that our machines were not working. She would always make me iron my Boy Scout uniform and I eventually graduated to cooking the family dinner once a month. I know all of these teachings as basic life lessons now and I still remember the way Mother drilled them into me, for my survival in the real world.
Little League in my day was nothing like it is today. We lived in a small town and we had just three teams each summer. We would play one team this week and the other team next week and then we would start again. I played catcher and third base but spent most of my time pitching. I was one of the biggest players in our bunch and I found baseball to be within my athletic abilities. I was never a jock but I found the game to be second nature to me. It was paired with strategic thinking, kind of like chess, and I enjoyed the challenge. I never played ball in junior high and I tried out for high school ball just once. The good thing is that I was never pressured by my parents to play and I continued to have a love for the game on my own terms. I have seen many kids who were “worn out” on sports before they ever reached adulthood. Although one can find a lesson in just about everything in life, I don’t see much to learn about quitting.
I remember when I was ten years old I told my mother that I wanted a job. Not just any job, but a job making money. She often put me “in charge” of my little sister and she would sometimes pay me a stipend for watching her over the course of an afternoon while she did housework. I also made a few bucks working with my father on occasion. He was an electrician and I would install switch covers in the many houses and apartments that he would wire on summer days. Still, there was a desire in me to work for someone else. When I was eleven, she found an ad in the paper that read “Wanted: Young man needed to help elderly man with outside chores.” It read something like that. She took me to meet an Old Italian man on the other side of town. He was eating a meal at home that his wife had made him and he asked me to sit down with him. As he and my mother agreed on a rate of pay the older woman made me a plate of pasta and I ate it. Mother left me with the man and he started me on lawn maintenance. Mom picked me up a couple of hours later and I came home with a little bit of money in my pocket. The old man asked for me a couple more times and I learned how to mop floors at the local Catholic School. He once put a paint brush in my hand and left me to hand-brush aluminum paint on a wire fence that surrounded the school. I can’t remember what he paid me and I can’t even remember his name but he taught me an early lesson of “honest money for honest work.” Mother later helped me get a job as a paperboy, delivering the local paper after school. After that, she helped me to get a job as a dishwasher at a nearby café. She was teaching me how to look after myself and it was paying dividends.
Mother was usually good-natured at home. Even though she had taken on the responsibility of helping to raise step children, she still had the ability to whistle while she did housework or hum a tune in her day-to-day activities. She managed to enjoy what she was doing without letting it suck the air out of her passion. One of her favorite quotes at the time was “A thing of beauty is a joy forever,” and she appreciated things in that way, whether it was a material object or the experience of eating a delightful piece of apple pie. She had a way of letting small things impact the bigger things in life. I remember having a picnic with her one afternoon after having a doctor appointment. The enjoyment of the picnic overshadowed the experience with the doctor and my good mood continued into the evening. She helped me in this way to learn early on the benefits of meditation. Meditation is simply focusing on the present and pushing away the thoughts of the past and future. You can see it every evening on the front porches across America . . . old men and women sitting in their rockers and enjoying the sight of people passing by. Mother learned this early in her own life when she would find a place to curl up and read a book. It’s a lesson that has taken me almost a full lifetime to appreciate.
We had an intramural softball competition at work a few years ago. Each zone business team became a softball team and practiced a couple of times before having a competition one fall day. I was the fattest, slowest player on our squad and I was a bit nervous about playing first base. Although I had never played the position I knew the role and was aware that I would be thrown many balls by the infielders. I thought back to my youth and even as a parent of girls’ softball as I thought about what the next play should be after the pitch was thrown, whether it was a throw to first or a forced run to third. These are often the thoughts of day-to-day life. What course do I take after finishing Algebra? Trigonometry or Physics? What jobs will I need to learn before getting the job that I really want? Mother didn’t teach me a thing about baseball but she helped me get over the hump and on to the next thing whenever she could. By the way, not only did I survive the softball competition . . . I was given the game ball and voted MVP for our team. We didn’t win the day but we became a stronger unit and I learned that I could be an asset no matter how fat my butt is.
Like Mother, I have a love for movies. Thinking back, I have enjoyed and learned from a host of baseball movies: “The Natural,” with Robert Redford; “Field of Dreams,” with Kevin Costner; “The Bad News Bears,” with Walter Matthau; “A League of Their Own;” “The Sandlot,” and the list goes on and on. Each story is about overcoming obstacles and working with others to find a common destiny. Our childhoods are like that, too. Our brothers and sisters become our heroes because of the sacrifices they make to help us survive childhood together and we often reflect in remembering some of the stupid things we have done to make us who we are today. Mother is an only child. Although she didn’t experience brothers and sisters she helped me to realize the importance of those relationships during and after our childhoods and the responsibility of nurturing those relationships much later in life.
My week in Canada brought me back to the many foods we used to eat as a family. There were some foods that I hadn’t thought about in many years: Thuringer, Dutch Lettuce, Shepherd’s Pie, Goulash, butter tarts, fruitcake, macaroni salad, and various casserole dishes. Some of these foods were from my mom’s side of the family and some were dishes that she learned to make from my dad’s side. One recipe that I have continued with my own family is chili with kidney beans. Although I add more spice to the pot when I make it my taste buds still trigger a memory when I whip it up. There is nothing like a big pot of Mother’s Chili on a winter day.
Mom is a reader and she owned DESU BOOKS for many years. Her used book store was probably her best career, meaning it was a job that gave her much purpose while she enjoyed what she did at the same time. She read for pleasure but she also read to learn, as she still does. Although she has tried to teach me to have joy in reading it doesn’t have the effect that it has on her. It might be because of an experience that I had early on in life. I was in second grade and she had bought me a hardcover book called “How Babies Are Made.” There was a practical need in buying me the book as she wanted to teach me about the birds and the bees in small bite-size chunks. I remember bringing the book to “Show and Tell” one day in Miss Tracy’s class. The new book had a book cover dressed in purple and grey colors and I brought it to Miss Tracy at the beginning of class in hopes that she would let me read it out loud to the class in the afternoon. The book was complete with cartoon pictures of different animals mating, in good taste of course, with humans on the last page. Miss Tracy told me that she would look the book over and when Show and Tell started later that day she told the class that Michael would be reading a book on another day. She later told me to find another book that would be more entertaining to the class. It’s a good thing that censorship exists in some situations. I can just imagine me reading that book like Alfalfa from the “The Little Rascals.” Of course, it was never Mother’s intention for me to take the book to school. Funny.
With reading comes learning and Mother has had a definite influence in my education, my politics, and my overall thoughts on living an honest, clean life. Mom is a child of the 40’s and 50’s and she raised a family in the 60’s and 70’s. The sixties was a time of violence, rioting, demonstrations and the hippie movement. She identified with a call for peace, a duty to protect the environment, and a government to answer the call for help from unprotected citizens. She says that she was always a feminist and she taught me from an early age to respect women and to hold them up as equals to men in personal and professional circles. Most importantly, Mother taught me to be my own person and to be confident in my beliefs. My wife, Angie tells me that one of my best qualities, the one thing that attracted her to me the most, is being confident and self-assured. I told her that it’s something that I learned from Mother.
I stayed with my sister, Shannon and her husband, Vince during my stay this last week. I asked them to “stream” game 6 and 7 of the World Series for me. The 2017 series took the Houston Astros and the Los Angeles Dodgers to game 7 and both teams played very well. The last time the Astros won the series was “never” and it was exciting for the city of Houston to have a big win after Hurricane Harvey took a lot from Texas residents in August of this year. November 3rd was named “Astros Day” and a local parade was put on in the downtown streets of Houston. Baseball came alive for me again this year and it was something that Angie and I enjoyed watching together.
I struggled with trying to tell a story about my mother. I even discussed story ideas with Angie and she made me realize that one of Mom’s best stories is me and the person that I have become. It’s not one or two stories that have made me complete – it’s the many life lessons that she taught me over the years from map-reading to preparing my own taxes. She helped me to realize that parenting is not about “friending” your children . . . it’s about getting them ready to live life on their own. Baseball is a passion that I acquired while becoming independent and it has had its own rewards. She continues to drive me to learn more about history and the reasons behind what we do. I have found that I am a lot like her. Oh, dear!
Note: I wrote a poem to Mother many years ago and have included it below. I think it pairs with this story . . .
YES, MOTHER
Looking back to memories bright,
I remember she’d teach me wrong from right.
“Clean your plate. There are others who have none.”
“Do your homework, and let me know when you’re done.”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“Save your money for a rainy day.”
“It’s beautiful outside, so go out and play.”
“Let me show you how to clean and cook.”
“If you’re really bored, you can read a good book.”
“Don’t you know that I was young once, too?”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“Take some time to read this book, son.
I think it’s time you know where they come from.”
“Girls are spice and everything nice.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll take my advice.”
“You don’t have to do as others do.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“My grandfather gave us all we would need.
When spring rolled around he would plant seed.
He shot game and lived off the land.
He wasn’t afraid to make a stand.
You could learn a few things from him, too.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“I used to walk a mile to school.
It won’t hurt you to walk a little, too.”
“Do your chores and be nice to your sister.”
“Address adults as Misses or Mister.”
“Do you know that I love you?”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“Why do you want to be in a rock and roll band?”
“Be a leader. Lend a helping hand.”
“How old is she? What is her name?
Do you care for her deeply? Does she feel the same?”
“Where have you been? I was worried about you!”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“How many hours? How much does it pay?
Think of your future. In school you should stay.”
“Do you have food? You’ve lost a lot of weight.”
“Be on time. You shouldn’t be late.”
“Did you get the letter that I sent you?”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“You’re too young to get married. Won’t you wait till later?
Yes, I think she’s nice. No, I don’t hate her.”
“You need a good job. Where will you live?”
“How much do you need? How much can I give?”
“Isn’t life great when love is new?”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“I’m going to be a grandma?!! You must be joking!”
“How’s the job going? Are you still smoking?”
“We’re all fine. How is she?
I was foolish to think she’d replace me.
Tell her that I’m thinking of her, too.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“You sound funny. Are they all right?
How long was she in labor? Was it a long night?
She’ll be okay. She just needs time to heal.
You’ll be a good father. When was your last meal?
Give her my love, and to the baby, too.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“Tell her not to fuss. I won’t be a bother.
I remember a few things. You were once a toddler.
The living room is fine. You sleep in your own room.
I’ll get her some groceries. Where does she keep her broom?
It was nice seeing you. I’ll miss you, too.
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“They’re growing like weeds.
I wish you weren’t so far away.”
“Pay attention to your wife . . .
A good husband doesn’t stray.”
“Call me if you need someone to talk to.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“Get you some stocks, bonds, or an IRA.
If you stuff it under the mattress, that’ll be okay.
You must think of their future . . . and yours and hers, too.
It’ll take planning to see it all through.
Don’t worry about me, son. I’ve planned some, too.”
Yes, Mother . . . I hear you.
“Are you happy, boy? It’s important that you are.
There’s more to life than a career or a new car.”
“I’m proud of you and of who you’ve become.
You’re all that I dreamed of and even more, son.
But tell me the truth. Did I ever get through?
Did you ever listen when I was talking to you?”
Yes, Mother . . . I listened. I even took your advice.
In many of my choices, I didn’t have to think twice.
I haven’t always been as good as I could be.
There were times that I was glad you weren’t there to see.
Of one thing I’m certain . . . you passed a lot on.
You taught me to be caring, happy, and strong.
Your thoughts are with me in all that I do.
Yes, Mother . . . I heard you.
