Our Mom was a country girl. Her upbringing included horses and country music. As with a lot of people of that generation, she passed down to us kids superstitions and idiosyncrasies of her genealogy. I once spent an entire 6 months walking to school avoiding cracks in the sidewalks, because she shared with us ” to step on a crack, you break your mother’s back”. My brother LB1 (little brother one) and I had discussed this possible misfortune and decided that we would not be able to take up the slack if this happened. Another strange tradition was to throw a pinch of salt over your shoulder if someone spilled the shaker. We were told it had something to do with luck, or lack there of. Black cats and broken mirrors were something to be avoided at all costs around our house. Also, if one us had an itchy nose, it was a foregone conclusion that unannounced company was on the way. As we got older we began to question the validity of these practices but to this day I would never walk under an out stretched ladder or open an umbrella inside.
Mom had simple tastes and one of them was Country & Western music and the Grand Ole Opry. The biggest stumbling block in her enjoyment of this venue was our Dad, he couldn’t stand either. As such, Mom was not allowed to play that type of stuff on our radio in the kitchen. In her usual simplistic logic, that actually meant he didn’t want to hear it. By logical deduction, what he couldn’t hear, wouldn’t hurt him. So, after he left for work, the radio instantly began sharing with us and the neighbors, the latest Hank Williams ballads. Looking back on this time, I think she was the happiest. She was in complete charge of her domain as she sang along with the radio and washed the daily dishes. LB1 and I were not exactly sworn to secrecy but we were bribed a lot. Favorite pies and cookies seemed to appear mysteriously about the time Dad was due home for work. It really didn’t matter to us that the radio dial had to be returned to its strategic placement on his favorite station before 5:00 in the evening, but it was amusing to watch the ploy at work.
Another idiosyncrasy that became my personal nemesis, was her occasional use of the letter” a “when an “o”was appropriate. For example, for supper we might be having “carn” with our mashed potatoes or Roy Rogers “harse” was named Trigger. I don’t know why that bothered me so much, but as the oldest child I deemed it my duty to correct her every time she did it. It never seemed to rankle Dad, and my little brothers appeared oblivious to the problem. To her credit, when corrected, she would smile at me, pronounce it correctly and offer me a bowl of ice cream. I would give anything today to hear her tell me that carn on the cob was on the menu for dinner.
Aside from the occasional fracturing of the English language and her seemingly unending quest to get me to 300 pounds by feeding me every dessert possible, our Mom, took seriously, her responsibility of raising us kids right. We had our mouth washed out with soap when caught uttering an occasional curse word. We also were made to swallow Vicks Menthol-Rub at the first sign of a chest cold. However, the all time most annoying practice, was to be made to go outside to a bush and break off a switch to be whacked with. This was not a common practice but was awarded after all other punishment was rendered useless. To be sent to get a switch was as much mental as it was physical in it’s intention. While walking outside to find a small tree the perpetrator was given time to think about his dastardly deed. Upon return without a branch of acceptable size, the trip would have to be repeated. Once Mom approved of the acceptability of the instrument, a couple of quick whacks were applied on the behind of our blue jeans. It never really hurt much but what came next was the coup d’ e tat. We had to go to bed with out supper. How come it never happened on ham & beans night? It always seemed to work out on fried chicken and mashed potato night. A few evenings of missing mom’s fried chicken was successful at making me even want to kiss LB2, just to show I could get along with everyone.
Perhaps the most distinguishing thing about Mom’s appearance was her smile. When it showed up on her face a dimple appeared on her right cheek. The broader the smile the deeper the dimple. Mom’s gone now, but she left behind some enduring memories. Her straight forward desire to do what was right no matter the cost and her dedication to her children and their welfare, became her legacy. But, the thing I treasure the most , happens when I look in the mirror and smile and my mom’s dimple appears on my right cheek.
