I took Mom some flowers yesterday (I also said “Howdy” to a lot of people. If you are of Portuguese or Japanese descent, I probably visited your ancestors.) and realized this week would have been Mom and Dad’s 75th wedding anniversary.
He came from the Ozark foothills to Taft, at 21, on a technically illegal baseball scholarship–Dad was a gifted and graceful athlete–and she was a soda jerk,18, and I think they fell in love over the ice-cream sundae she made for him. And, what a year–1939–to date! “Gone with the Wind,” “Wizard of Oz,” “Goodbye Mr. Chips,” and so on. Thank you, Hollywood, for making us four kids possible!
He was incredibly quick-witted and funny, an absolutely mesmerizing storyteller, brilliant (especially with numbers); she was sensitive, artistic, a brilliant, lifelong learner, intensely spiritual and she had a powerful sense of social justice. Me? I was lucky.
But if you know me, you know them.
Forty-six years after my Mom’s death, I still miss her, and she still inspires me. Each and every one of my life’s accomplishments was meant as a gift for her, and, if you’ve been one of my students, my Mom loves you every bit as much as I do.
I also inherited their deep and destructive flaws–Dad’s temper and his alcoholism, too, Mom’s struggles with depression–and the truly marvelous thing about getting older is how you begin to appreciate those things, as well. In confronting and enduring them, they become your strengths.
My parents may be my greatest strength of all.
Happy 75th, Mom and Dad. I love you forever.
A Work in Progress 