The Meanest Mother in the World
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
actually 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.