MY HERO – MY MOM J. Bartlett
When I was a young child, our father abruptly left us one day, drove across the United States from Northern Maine . . . into Alaska, never to return to his family and community. He walked out on his parents and siblings, our family, his farm, his community, along with his employees and lifelong friends. He and his mistress (who was also married) affected an entire farming community.
He and our mother were 28 years old, with six children under eight years old. I was the second born child within the family tree of six kids and was six years old (when the choices he made) altered our lives forever. The reason for his leaving was another woman, and too many responsibilities at a young age. He ran like the selfish, narcissistic coward that he was, leaving behind all the responsibility, pain, and hardship to our mother, to us, and to the farming community at large.
The world wasn’t the same as it is today, with outside services to rally around a family and a single parent in need. The small farming community seemingly condemned our family, turning their anger and frustration toward us, blaming us for our father’s transgressions and sins. The community became split in half. Those making excuses for his actions (his family and friends) and those against what he had done (my mother’s family and friends). In between the tense faction were the six of us, caught in a storm of betrayal, whispers, and slander. No one wanted to take on the responsibility for seven people, cast into a situation where it would cost money to feed, clothe and nourish them, so few stepped forth to offer a helping hand within the rising tide of futility and darkness.
In looking back, and in all complete fairness, the community had their own families to worry about. Our untimely situation was a burden that no one wished or could financially take on.
Lack of pride and an instilled prejudice from others were cast upon us from an early age. At the forefront of all this tragedy was a lone figure called, “Mommy”. She didn’t fall apart, but bravely forged forward with little or nothing in the emotional or financial system to sustain her or her children. Somehow, she continued to feed, clothe, nourish our souls, and instill in us moral and values, and the ability to continue our dreams. She made sure we attended Sunday School & Church on Sundays, and she became the leader of the local 4-H club. She and I both sang in the church choir and she held her head proudly high in front of the congregation. She read hopeful and brave children’s books to us every night, and took the time to interest us in the latest radio programs. (Little heads held close to the radio speakers, involved in the drama of “The Long Ranger” and the words . . . “Hi Ho Silver Away” sending chills up my spine. I’ll never forget my redheaded little brothers holding their breaths at the wonder of the unfolding stories she selected for us each night, and at the end of a chapter for the evening, pleading . . . “One more page, Mommy. Please!”
She wrote wonderful/sad poetry by the volumes, and never gave into the vices that other women and men fall into under similar circumstances. She never swore, smoked, drank liquor, or spoke unkindly about anyone. Never! She told us endless stories about her youth and happy adventures on her parent’s farm. She told stories about the great depression and action-filled adventures about World War ll and her important and exciting work as a parachute packer on the local military base. We knew all the names and sad backgrounds of local soldiers that fought and died or were wounded for our country. She became a storyteller for six hungry-minded children with a dream for drama and happy endings. Yes, she was morose at times, even depressed and overwhelmed, but she kept us together and she never allowed anyone to condemn or shun us. She held her chin stubbornly high, and by example, taught us to do the same. At the first opportunity, she went to work in a food-processing factory and went off the welfare program that barely fed and clothed us. I never once heard her complain about the long hours and the horrific grind of her job. We were poor, but we were proud.
As a child I didn’t see the true horror of what she had faced alone. Imagine being twenty-eight and stranded in a small farming community, with a limited support system and little or no empathy. In those trying times following our father’s abandonment of family, I could only feel my own pain and that of my brothers and sister. It wasn’t until many years (while I was strolling down that long learning road of life) and when I became a parent, that I began to watch her interact with our three children, and realized what a gift she had been to us. She taught our kids to knit and crochet, how to sew, how to build a decent snowman, how to bake bread, how to write a poem and a decent letter, how to bake gingerbread cookies, collect stamps and coins, etc. etc., and most of all, she taught them patience and unconditional love. She taught them the same stories she had passed onto us during our growing up years, reaching back into her and her mother’s past (and her grandmother’s past) for the gift of storytelling, helping them become an integral part of their history and the larger world at large. She gave them patience and guidance and was a playful friend, as well as a spiritual mentor.
Yes, my Mom has her faults (don’t we all) but she had a strength that I seek out in my friends and mentors today. Her storytelling instilled in me the ability to utilize my imagination, and enabled me to find the courage to write children’s books. Most of all, she taught me to dream . . . to find the strength within myself to overcome life’s greatest obstacles, and to forge ahead and earn the title “Mom”.
On each Father’s Day, I call my Mom and wish her “Happy Father’s Day”. Not because she tried to be a dad, but because she earned the title and honor of both parents . . . “Mom and Dad”. If I were to sum up my Mom in one sentence, it would be with this line . . . “She gave us all the love she had, then reached within and found more of herself to give.”