A Little Boy, a Mom, and Me
I get story ideas wherever I am at the time; talking a walk, mowing the yard, and shopping at Day’s. So I wasn’t surprised to get my Mother’s Day Column while standing in line at my favorite family owned small town grocery, Day’s Market.
Jim the Bag Boy usually offers me something to write about, as he has with two memorable columns illuminating life and its pitfalls. I didn’t see the hard-working and totally delightful Down’s Syndrome adult yesterday. So… I wasn’t expecting another page of wholesome goodness to scroll itself across the right-brain screen of my mind; only temporarily devoid of action as I considered to buy or not to buy the Snickers bar tempting me to throw off my diet for one more day.
A story formed as a nine year-old boy ahead of me in line, counting pennies, nickels, and dimes to pay for what used to be “penny candy,” caused the voice of my Mom to speak to me the words of a card I found one year after her death.
I was in 1962 again and headed to Knolls Corner Market. I was on the three-speed bike with a playing card securely attached to the spokes of my back tire with a cloths pin. I had collected a quarter in pennies, nickels, and dimes, and knew it was enough for a Frostie Root Beer and a Butterfinger candy bar with a couple of Double Bubble Bubble Gum’s thrown in.
I was momentarily brought back to the present by the cashier saying, "Eleven more cents please," and watched the boy’s story unfold as he counted the change out just as millions of boys before him had at every grocery store in America.
I smiled, totally grateful for the time it was taking for the boy to carefully take each red cent from his small plastic sandwich bag.
See, I recently discovered a message my Mom had left for me to find after her death. She had put all my childhood report cards, photos, awards in a box, and in the “Baby Book” she knew I would open, there was the card; the words of her last message to me as penned by Marsha Newman:
“Bye Mom. Love you!”
I let you go alone to the store when you were only nine.
Your father said it was high time to let you go…
It was hard the first time. I knew you would come back,
An older boy full of talk about your grand adventure.
I knew you’d soon forget our world of popcorn and games,
Of peas porridge hot and peas porridge cold. Then one day,
You’d turn and say, “Bye Mom. Love You!”
And you’d be twenty years old.
And now our little world of games and finger play,
Has truly given way to other roads that never,
Quite lead home again. I comfort myself with knowledge,
That, although I don’t know where you’re going,
I do know where you’ve been.
On my knee.
Beside my bed in the dead of night.
And always close to my heart.
So when we must part, as inevitably we all must do…
The sweet good-bye you gave to me,
I now give back to you…
“Bye son…Love you!”
MOM
I miss you so much Mom! What can I do now but share that sentiment with others? God bless you now and forever!
James Michael Pratt, Author
MOM, The Woman Who Made Oatmeal Stick to My Ribs
www.jmpratt.com
Thursday, May 7, 2009
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2 comments:
That was beautiful, James! Thank you so much for sharing that. What a beautiful memory your mother left you. Now I see where you get it!! :-)
~Amy Rhoads
How did Marsha Newman know our moms? Mine was afraid to let me play out of the yard, but once a week she'd give me three dollars and let me ride my bike a half mile to Hardees for a bag of burgers and fries for our dinner.
I ran away one time because I didn't get my way. I went quite some distance and it felt like I was in another town, but I still heard her when she called from the back porch. I went home, convinced that I'd never be able to get far enough away...until the Army sent me to Ethiopia. Even then, when I didn't write as often as she thought I should, she contacted the Red Cross who contacted my commander. He made me sit down in his office and write my mother. She kept all of my letters in a box. I found them when I cleaned out her room after she passed.
I found letters to her from my dad as well. They'd split up for a few months when I was stationed in Georgia. He came down and found a job offbase so he could be near family. I never knew my father could write - he only had a fourth grade education. Despite their strained relationship, my father sent all his money home to help Mama pay the bills. I learned a lot about their character in those letters.
My daughter, Laura, graduates from high school in one month. I've been writing stories to her for the past few years, but I've had trouble coming up with something to say on this special occasion. I think your mom's note and Marsha Newman's poem just gave me the inspiration I needed.
God bless our mothers. May we be blessings to them. Happy Mother's Day to you moms out there!
Blessings Jim. I'm making slow progress; almost there:).
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