Thanks, Mom - Capitol Hill Coffee House

I learned about books from my mother. She has a love for literature that she passed on to all four of her children. I think I was the one most intrigued by what books had to offer. She had be reading before just about everyone my age, but she also insisted that I spend plenty of time outdoors. She pointed out that books were a window to the world, but that window was not just for looking through. She saw books as maps, made to encourage actual exploration. So, it wasn’t enough to read about the stars, it was necessary to lay on a blanket in the back yard in the summertime, gazing upward into infinity. The stars has names, and I learned them. I learned about the weather, the sea, the life that abounded in the lakes and streams, the mysteries of numbers and how they fit together. She taught me that there was nothing that I could not begin to learn from books, but that they were a starting point toward personal exploration.

Thanks, Mom.

I learned about people from my mother. I was born at a time when superstition was more prevalent than it is today. Mom and Dad knew a man named George, a hideously ugly man whose face was deformed. His body was twisted, too, and he was confined to a wheelchair. When he found that Mom was pregnant, carrying me, he tried to avoid her. He told her that he didn’t want me to be influenced by him. She made it a point of seeing him whenever possible while carrying me. When I was born, she went with my father to see him, and laid me in his arms. She told him “See, he’s perfect. And his middle name is George, we named him after you.” Mom told me he had tears in his eyes, as he held me and looked at me. Mom told me that what he looked like on the surface was totally unimportant, what mattered was the heart of a person. Nothing else mattered, not color, not race, not religion, not disability, nothing.

Thanks, Mom.

I learned about my country from my mother. She worked a classified job during the Second World War. Dad built Liberty ships, although he wanted to enlist. She loves America, and believes in this country. She raised my older brother and I to respect the country that had given her grandparents a new home, a new chance, a new lease on life. She made us understand that it was a debt we owed that we might be called upon to pay, and she was unflinching in her attitude, even when both her sons were serving together in Viet Nam. She knew the risks we faced, and her support and love were a beacon through many difficult times. Mom wasn’t sure about the reasons for that war, but she kept her disquiet to herself. She supported her children, she believed in us, and she trusted our judgment. She told me how proud of me she was, when I volunteered to go, and volunteered to extend. She only told me years later about her fears, not knowing if one or both of her sons would return to her in a box. As a family, we would sing “God Bless America” with Kate Smith, at the end of each show.

Thanks, Mom

I learned how to care for myself from my mother. She taught me how to cook, not just cook, but to experiment in the kitchen. She instilled a love of cuisine that remains with me to this day. From items as simple as fried green tomatoes to baked trout stuffed with cheese, miniature mushrooms and tiny shrimp, she taught the pleasure of preparation, the suspense associated with something new, and the joy of a well-prepared meal. She taught me to sew and iron, how to do my own laundry, how to clean house, and how to generally be able to take care of myself. “You might not find a woman willing to put up with you”, she pointed out, “so you’d better be able to take care of yourself.”

Thanks, Mom.

I learned to be responsible for myself from my mother. When I was seven years old, I shoplifted a box of birdseed from a store and took it home. We didn’t have a bird, only one dog, Major. (At the time, we added two other dogs and a cat later.) Mom was unforgiving. I had to take the birdseed back, apologize to the shopkeeper, and pay for the birdseed. I never repeated my crime. There was punishment at home, too, the type that is frowned upon these days, but it was effective at the time. I worked two summers on a farm, sunrise to sundown, six days a week, for $2.75 a day. The money I made went to buy school clothes and supplies for two years in a row. I wasn’t told to do so, I did it because I had the money and wanted to help out. I remember the tears in Mom’s eyes, when I showed her what I’d purchased, and told her not to worry about buying for me. I wanted her to be proud that I was taking care of myself, and I guess she was.

Thanks, Mom.

I learned so much about life and living from my mother that I cannot possibly put it all into words. And it was her willingness to question how this universe came to be, to question how the Creator involves Himself with His Creation, that probably established the road map, the path, that was to lead me to my own belief. Mom never desired to lead us down a path to a specific religious belief; rather, she wanted us to discover for ourselves. She never questioned the validity of God, but she has always questioned the validity of religious doctrine. She never questioned the words of the Bible, but she always questioned the teachings of the churches. I was baptized Methodist Episcopalian, although I attended many churches. Mom was a Catholic. When my brother was born, he was in ill health. In a hurry, he was baptized as I was. The priest at the church Mom attended told her that she was wrong to have him baptized out of the Catholic church, and that it must not happen again, or Mom could be excommunicated. Wrong thing to tell a strong minded Irish woman. When I was born, I was baptized as I mentioned, and Mom was excommunicated. Mom never lost her faith, she only lost her church. But she, among many others, helped me find my faith.

Thanks, Mom.

You know, the time will come when she’ll be gone. And my time will come, when I’ll approach the Throne, and face my Savior. When my judgment is over, I’ll face that young woman, that glorified soul, that person who made me what I am today, standing there to greet me once again, as she has so many times before as I returned home from places scattered around the world. This woman I love, who gave me life, who is on the main responsible for who I am today, and I’ll take her hands and say...

Thanks, Mom.

NOTE: Copyright 05/08/05 by Dave Hoffman

Use granted to all who identify author.

Beneficium accipere libertatem est vendere.