Mom

My mom was just 17 years old when she married my dad. Just 18 when she had my older brother, and 21 when she had me. It’s crazy to me when I think about how young she was; to be able to manage a household, and work, and to have two children. 

Although my mom never verbalized this to me, I am certain a part of being married so young was to escape her home life.   

I know she at least thought she loved my dad, as they remained married for 13 years.  I know my Grandpa and Grandma J were supportive, and probably the best role models she could have run to, or have the fortune to marry into. She talked many times about my Grandpa J teaching her to drive and how patient he was with her. She also spoke of the physical abuse that was doled out to her by her dad. 

When my brother was 18 months-old, my dad went to Vietnam as part of a National Guard Supply division in 1967. I know she likely relied on my grandparents heavily during that time.  When he returned in 1968, I was conceived and was born the following April in 1969.  

We lived in a small town of 900 people until our house was built outside of town, in the country, in 1974. It was a lovely little ranch home on 10 acres of trees, with a winding creek on the lower part of the property. I have been back there twice since, just to see if our little house was still there, and it is.  It is only about 2 miles outside of town, although it felt a long way on our bikes! 

My mom kept our home immaculate, with this home, and the others we lived in growing up. She decorated and redecorated as the trends went, so our home at the time had red shag carpeting, white furniture and gold accents in the living room. Harvest gold appliances, and green and white shag carpeting in my parent’s bedroom. My dad had built a corner vanity for her with a long pendant chandelier where she did her makeup and hair. There was a main bathroom that my brother and I shared along with guests, and a bathroom attached to their bedroom.  The coolest thing to us was the laundry chute in their bedroom, and we spent a fair amount of time sliding down it onto the laundry pile in the basement laundry room.  

My mom was a social butterfly, and quite beautiful, with thick, dark curly hair and blue eyes. She was tall and slender like her mom, and was an avid bowler, pianist and card player.  She began working at the same factory, in the administrative office, of the large manufacturing plant my dad started at when he returned from the war.  

The outfits she wore! The seventies were a time of flared-leg jeans, pant suits and skirts of every length.  I don’t remember her ever wearing clothing that would be long and flowing, or “Boho” as some think of in the 1970’s.  Her long, thin legs were perfect for jumpsuits and skirts, which she wore with frequency. I was never embarrassed by my mother, at least by the way she dressed herself in public. 

Mom was never a drinker, but like my dad, smoked  Winston cigarettes like they were soon to be out of stock everywhere. It wasn’t uncommon in those days; it seemed every adult smoked.  Airplanes, offices, schools; even hospitals and Dr offices would have ashtrays strewn about.  After all, it was just a short decade or two prior that tobacco companies advertised cigarettes as not being harmful. I’ve heard others comment about riding in the car with their parents, windows up and both blazing through cigs in the front seat.  Usually with us yelling from the back seat to roll down the window, complaining of headaches.  Yep, that was us too!  

My mom loved music and instilled a deep love of books in me. I don’t recall a great emphasis being placed on higher education, but both my brother and I were good students early on and there was never any reason for us not to like school. We both read early, likely due to my mom’s diligence in reading to us as toddlers. I enjoyed reading and found myself escaping into books many times in my life.  

From the memories my older have been able to piece together, we had chores, and we played. We spent so much time with our grandparents, we must assume our parents had a vibrant social life.  With the sheer number of memories spending time with our grandparents, there is nothing else to assume. Just as I suppose it would be for many whose parents were twenty-somethings when they were small.  

We would go on visits with them to their friends sometimes on the weekends, playing with their friends’ kids until late into the evening, while they played cards and talked and laughed.  

On the ride home, we would usually fall asleep with our heads leaning on the cool windows, so many stars to look at.  We would awaken to our dad either carrying us or ushering us into the house. 

We sat down for dinner during the week and ate together, just the four of us. Nothing too fancy; my mom was a consistent cook, but not a particularly good one. The emphasis was mainly on providing enough food, which almost always included red meat, canned vegetables and bread. A lot of casseroles. Always milk to drink.  Usually, gelatin or pudding for dessert.  Thankfully, our food intake was never limited, and there was no fear of us overeating back then. I guess they knew we would run it off, or bike it off the next day, which we did! 

Mom’s favorite snack was saltine crackers in milk, which I always thought was kind-of gross. Sweets were reserved for when we were at our Grandparent’s place nearby, which as I mentioned, we would frequent often. There was never anything like that around the house, which is probably how she kept so slim! 

Our birthdays, and holidays, were great celebrations. I’m almost embarrassed to think about the number of toys we received.  With being the only grandchildren on my dad’s side, we had much. More than two kids would ever need or use. 

Our chores were always to keep our rooms picked up, but in addition, mine was to keep the humidifier filled, and I dusted and vacuumed.  My favorite chore was on Saturday; I got to dust all the little glass and ceramic animals my mom kept on a shelf at the end of the hall.  I can still remember the little green ceramic worm family that I would carefully dust and place in line (mama worm, dad worm and two baby worms). They were my favorite. 

My mom liked to streak around the house, never self-conscious about her body. Sometimes, she would put on her Cher record and just dance around, but mainly, it was sneak attacks she liked the most.  We would hear “streaker!!” and knew we would soon see mom’s butt running past us. She commented so many times in our adult lives, “how are you my children when you are so modest!?”.  I don’t know.  I’ve never figured that one out! 

There was much affection and “I love you’s” back then. Life was good. What a near-perfect existence it seemed to us.  In my child’s-eye and with limited experience in the world, it seemed nothing could go wrong. 

What do you remember about your mom, when you think about your early childhood? Did you have a good relationship with her? 

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