Women

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The Greatest Mom For All Times
(A Special Tribute To My Mom)
©
by

Stephen A. Peterson


Mom was just a few weeks away from her 21st birthday when I was born. She thus became “Doctor Mom” long before the term was popular on 1990’s television. I am told that for the first few years of life, mom introduced me to cod liver oil for proper bone growth, castor oil for stomach illnesses and baby oil to relieve me of diaper rash. To demonstrate my gratitude, I kept her up countless nights, destroyed her afternoon house cleaning routines and made evening meals an adventure as a choosey eater. As a preschooler, I quickly came to realize that this mom possessed special talents well beyond those of mortal moms. For this, I consider myself very fortunate indeed!!

Growing up in a hostile environment when race, religion and gender meant so much in the United States, mom did so many things to help me live life, grow and mature through these difficult years. She taught me about God and in the ways of God. That is, to be in the world but not be of the world.

For any 5 year old, the first day of school is generally difficult. But mom escorted me to the classroom amidst the noisiness, tears and fears of the other little kindergarteners. Because there was no free lunch program, mom always made certain I had a lunch—a lunchmeat sandwich of some sort neatly wrapped in waxed paper, a homemade oatmeal-raisin cookie and a dime to buy a carton of milk. All done in a labor of love and sacrifice for we were a family of color struggling to survive in a country that respected us not regarding us as non-persons for not being born within the right racial and ethnic group.

As I got a little older, not necessarily wiser, I attempted to gain my independence. I wanted to move away from the babyish/childish acts of maternal love to be a “man”. Now attending school in a Roman Catholic high school, I was no longer able to bring lunch to school. Rather than cry or complain, mom worked harder and longer to provide me with $25.00 a week. This was the results of scrubbing floors. She performed this menial task carrying a sister who was to be born the following spring.

As one might expect, food, clothing, shelter was always a struggle but the love of mom was always there. As a teen, I used to hide the holes of my shoes, the flapping shoe tongue, and the holes in my shirts. One of the students at Scecina high school saw the tiny hole in my shirt tail that I did not tuck in. He mockingly asked if had gotten my shirts from Kreske’s or the Salvation Army. My face burned with embarrassment. Then I told him: “This IS a special shirt fashioned by my mom. In the making of this shirt, the needle made the hole”. The next day, it seemed, classmates were waiting to see what sort of shirt and pants I would wear. From the way some of them acted, I began to think that they wished they had a mom who showed them the sort of love my mom did! I was so proud of my mom for the effort she showed in making those shirts and pants. Throughout the remainder of my high school years, I had to work to pay for my high school education at Scecina Memorial High School. But my mom’s efforts, hard work and love are still remembered even though those clothes are all gone and have become dust of the earth for all ages.

Mom’s love did not end when I left home for college at an age younger than most. I missed mom’s verbal encouragement but I took her toughness and desire to succeed with me. For I always remember her saying “work smart, work hard because you have to work twice as hard to achieve the minimal because this society does not want you to succeed.” Even though I did not see mom after school, she was there in my mind smiling in the classroom. She was there in the dorm room, later fraternity house hanging on a hanger in the form of the knitted sweaters made by her hands. She was there in the early morning light struggling with me though each and every class exam and term paper guiding me and telling me that I CAN do this.

In the meantime, the struggles remained with mom. By this time, there were 13 of us children with 12 remaining at home to clothe, feed, sometimes discipline and give emotional support to. Likewise, my struggles remained in an America that was now struggling at home and abroad but mom was still there. Now she sent short notes instead of lunch bags and made telephone calls instead of shirts, pants and self-knitted sweaters. As a collegiate, I missed seeing my mom everyday after school so I wrote and called home a great deal. My telephone bills some months got a little high. It did not seem to matter as I got encouragement to hang in there. To go to class, to complete that term paper, to show my respect of and for women even when some had no respect for themselves or me.

Throughout my six years of college at Indiana University—Bloomington, the letters and telephone calls came regularly until it was time for another graduation and commissionment in the United States Army as a Second Lieutenant. After leaving the University, it was off to defend a nation that throughout its history had sought to eliminate and enslave my mothers and fathers before me. While away defending the nation, mom defended the rights of children to live. She took in 4 children who had no mom or dad and raised them as her own. Children whose parents were drug addicts, alcoholics and parents of the night. Now we numbered 17 children who are different but unified in their love for mom. But there was hope in mom’s voice that her sufferings and years of personal degradation had not been in vain. That her son and, indeed, all of her children would be judged on the content of their characters. Characters imbued with an unshakeable belief in an Almighty God, honor in service to others, patience, forgiving those who have conspired and attempted to debase her and her children, love without conditions, giving without expectation of receiving something in return, integrity, and never giving in to evil philosophies, vices and actions of the world.

A special person came into my life whom mom welcomed with open arms though from a different country and culture. Fatherhood followed and a second grandson for mom. Without hesitation, mom reminded me of my responsibilities stating: “Son, you are a father now. You are responsible for a very special life. Get close to your child and indeed all of your children. Teach them God’s ways! Teach them responsibility. Teach them the difference between what is right and what is wrong as there is a difference! Teach them to love unconditionally! Give them your time! Listen to what they have to say and your children will know how to live and love”. These words were remembered and never forgotten as I held my 2 month old son.

As I enter the upper ranges of my middle years of life on this earth, mom continues to gloriously pass on her Christian values, Native American heritage, principles, traditions to me and all of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren in wisdom and unconditional love. Should you call, mom you will be greeted cheerfully with a “PRAISE THE LORD….!”

In a period when many, downplay, scorn, even belittle motherhood, my mom brings honor, integrity and a sense of pride to the world oldest profession—MOTHERHOOD!

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