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.
