A Salute to my Mom

Love you, Mom

Today is my Mom's birthday, it's either today or yesterday.  She wasn't sure which day but we usually celebrated on January 7. She was born in 1896, 114 years ago.  This is the earliest picture I have of her.

My drawing of Mom

Every year she had a big party.  The entire family, and all of our friends, were invited. You were expected to bring a gift even if you were broke from Christmas.  She cooked all of the food for her party and after several beers would entertain us with her way of dancing.  We would play Keno, knowing that she would cheat, and take all of our money.

Mom with her beer.

When we lived in Chicago it was easy to make her birthday party but after the move to Michigan the weather could cause problems.  I remember our struggling through the snow, hoping we would make it. Many times we went to Chicago early, if snow was predicted, to make sure we attended the party.

She raised the seven of us the best way she could, without a husband.  My youngest sister will be 70 this year and my oldest sister would be 95, if she were alive.   Three sisters were married when I was born so she never had seven children in the house at one time.

She was so strong.  What was she like when she was young?  A beauty, we know for sure.  Petite, slim, and vivacious, with long, flowing red hair.  Many men found her irresistible.  I imagine her as a carefree, young woman, teasing men with her flirtatious smile.

Then reality takes over.  She worked many hours in a cotton field and could drag a bag that was at least half her weight.  She sun must have been merciless in Georgia.  There were no pretty clothes for my Mom to wear to parties and parades.  Instead there were many floors to scrub, innumerable dishes to wash, and an abundant stack of diapers for the children she raised.

We would often ask her about our fathers, there were several, but she refused to discuss it.  We never told her how much we discovered from other family members, nor did we ever tell her that we knew that our grandfather, who I never knew, was not her father.

Yes, she was the Queen of the family.  Anything she wanted, she got.

We were on welfare and she did daywork, cleaning homes, but she taught us that any work is honest work.  She had one wish, that none of us would end up on welfare, and none of us did.  That was very important to her.

She left home early in the morning to clean homes.  No matter what the weather, she rode many buses and streetcars to homes that were far removed from us on the South Side of Chicago.

Mom would come home, tired and sore, but proceed to the kitchen to prepare dinner.  She bought "good" meat from the stores in the white neighborhood.  Her cooking warmed the heart, as well as the spirit.

Education was also important to her.  She went to elementary school and was one of the smartest woman I knew. She would go to downtown Chicago, to the most expensive store, look at a dress, come home and sew an exact copy.  She never liked anything cheap.

Everybody in the family, and I do mean everybody, has a afghan she made. Whenever someone mentioned that a baby was expected, we had to take her to the yarn store so she could make the afghan before the baby was born.

She lived 97 years, over twenty years after being diagnosed with inoperable cancer. She refused to believe she had cancer and never let it stop her from doing anything.

Even though we loved her, we still discuss how she was an enigma to us, a mysterious beautiful woman with a past, that none of us knew or would ever know.