It's Called Love
Her 83 year old hands break up the bread for bread pudding. Mother's always been a fantastic cook and was featured in the daily newspaper once for 'Homemaker of the Year'. I've always been proud of her being a career nursing professional and Cordon Bleu-schooled cook, and also that she made most of our clothes as long as we wanted her to. It all came from love, which was always evident.
Once in 5rd grade I admired a classmate's hooded yellow top, with a drawstring waist and cool looking pockets. I turned to Diane and said, "I like your shirt." She ignored me, but I continued, "Yeah, I have one just like it." She just rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, really? Well, why don't you wear it tomorrow then?" To which I probably replied, "Maybe I will!"
Oh, shit! What have I done? Why did I lie to her? She was so pretty with dark eyes, smooth olive skin and long, dark, wavy hair. She had an athletic shape with coltish legs that could scurry around the bases in baseball and still look feminine while doing it. The boys were always angling to get next to Diane at every occasion. I was so desperate to talk to her that I told a big fat lie to her the first chance I got.
When I came home from school that day, my Mother could see that I was upset as I reluctantly told her what I had done. I cried and cried-- embarassingly admitting the big fat lie I'd told at school.
Mother took me straight to the fabric store to pick out some nice yellow fabric, but I was pretty skeptical about her pulling it off. She made that yellow top according to my specifications and I held my head up high as I walked into the classroom the next day with my beautiful yellow top on. Just like Diane's.
I soon forgot about that incident, but years later I find I often drift back to that memory. It's just one example of what my Mother did for her children. It's called love.