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.
