because it was eight amazing decades ago this week, on March 4, 1930, that my mother arrived in this world, born at home in the family farmhouse nestled in the countryside a few miles outside the tiny town of
Goderich, Ontario.
In the United States, the Great Depression had just begun and Canada would suffer a similarly severe economic impact. However, in rural Canada at the time of my mother's birth and early childhood, the day to day effect of the Depression was felt less than in other places, if only because economic hardship and the most humble of lifestyles were already a part of every day life.
My mother's family of six, later seven, lived in a home down a dirt lane off a narrow country road that remains unpaved to this day. There was no electricity for light, much less any other convenience, and so the house was lit by kerosene
lanterns that had to be carried from room to room after dark. All food was cooked on a single wood stove in the kitchen that also served as the sole source of heat for the house. A hand-pump delivered water from a cistern for the occasional bath, with the water being heated, barely, by a rustic system related to the wood-burning stove. An outhouse and chamber pots kept under the beds were utilized in lieu of toilets. And, while anymore it is typically a
humorous exaggeration used by parents to stress the hardship with which they were raised, my mother truly did walk miles to school every day, to a one-room school house also heated by a primitive wood stove. (At least she wore shoes to do so. I think. I hope.)
Such humble beginnings notwithstanding, Mom finished high school at the age of seventeen. She hoped to become a nurse, but could not begin nurses' training until she was eighteen. Teachers were needed in those years following the second world war, and the local educational inspector encouraged Mother to take an available teaching job, which she did. And so began a career in education that would take her through the next three decades.
In her first few years of teaching, between 1948 and 1951, Mom began teachers' college in the summers, hoping to achieve a degree. During those same three years, she was also introduced to two new and rather interesting oddities...one being the first television set she had ever seen, which she came across in an appliance store one day; the second being an American man, a war veteran visiting Canada, whom she came across in a restaurant on another day. (From my personal perspective, the latter introduction was much more significant, as the American stranger ultimately became my father.)
Wedding bells rang in late March 0f 1951. The bride was radiant, although the groom was forced to wear a borrowed suit for the ceremony, after his tuxedo had been stolen from his car on the way to Canada for the wedding. (I'm still trying to figure out what kind of a person would be motivated to steal a tuxedo way back then, considering crack was not invented until a good three decades later.)
Once married, my mother moved to the United States to begin her new life. The next decade brought several more moves, as my father pursued his teaching and coaching career. Mother continued to teach full time while also taking college courses when she could, which ultimately resulted in her earning her bachelor's degree from Ohio Northern University in 1957.
By 1960, my parents had settled for good in Lima, Ohio, the area from which my father originally hailed. In the mid-sixties, life for my mother changed forever in the way that having children will do, with my arrival in May of 1965 and then my sister's birth nineteen months later.
While continuing to work full time at teaching and, following early retirement, then at managing our family's real estate investments, my mother primarily devoted the next two and a half decades' time to raising two very headstrong and spirited daughters (which is simply a nicer turn of a phrase than referring to us as downright difficult and rebellious, which we certainly were at times).
It is as an adult looking back at those years that causes me to feel the greatest love and admiration for my mother. While we were not truly bad kids, there were certainly still some rough spots in the road to raising us to adulthood. Nonetheless, my mother never faltered, or at least never appeared to, in her steadfast determination to raise her children well.
In my opinion, there is not praise high enough for the woman who, in our younger years, delivered us on time and ready for every activity, lesson, practice or event, and who still managed to ensure that we sat down at the dinner table every evening for a family meal. It was through her efforts that we learned not only the worth of hard work and the value of family, but also the lesson that no matter what the endeavor, the manner in which one plays a game (or does anything) is ultimately much more important than the outcome.
Later, during our teen and college years, the woman deserves additional kudos for never losing faith in the abilities of her children, as we were both at times prone to dropping out, flunking out or passing out. As we occasionally floundered trying to make that huge last leap from being children to becoming mature and responsible adults, our mother simply continued to insist that we could, and would, do better for ourselves. And so we did.
By the time she was sixty, with her daughters in their mid-twenties and for the most part successfully raised, my mother settled in to enjoy her retirement. Sadly, she was soon forced to endure an unexpected divorce after more than forty years of marriage, which of course greatly impacted both her emotional and financial stability. However, just as she had taught her children to do, Mom rolled with the punches and ultimately landed back on her feet, albeit with a few more battle scars inflicted by the always unpredictable game of life.
Through the rest of her sixties and then through her seventies, my mother has thankfully enjoyed some very good years. While increasing age brings with it the challenge of decreasing physical strength and stamina, as well as aches and pains she could certainly do without, Mom is still extremely active, remarkably healthy for her age, and she has a huge network of friends with whom she engages in a wide range of activities and interests. Her homes in Ohio and Florida are beautifully decorated and well kept, and her gorgeous yard and garden reflect her hard work and pride in her home, as well as her lifelong love of flowers and plants. It seems she is always on the go, heading out the door to a game of bridge, a movie, concert or lecture. When at home, she loves her crossword puzzles, her books, and her television shows, particularly any football or basketball game involving Ohio State. She also entertains frequently and is extremely talented in the kitchen. While I could go on and on, suffice it to say that I can only hope to still be as active and accomplished, and leading such a full life, when I reach the same age. (Okay, to be completely honest, I actually just hope to still be leading such a full life by, say, next year, because I'm already running out of energy, and I don't know where Mom gets hers.)
With my mother's eightieth birthday approaching, I recently stopped to consider just what truly remarkable things she has observed in her lifetime, in terms of historic events, societal developments and technological advances. The Depression, a World War, the Korean War, the profound changes that took place in American society in the post-war fifties. The Cold War. The Kennedy and King assassinations. The
tumultuous late sixties and early seventies. A man on the moon. Vietnam. Watergate. These huge occurrences that were all taught as history for persons less than half my mother's age were, for her, actual current events as she lived her life. Perhaps even more mind boggling is the fact that an even younger generation has now grown up not ever knowing life without cable TV, cell phones and computers, whereas my mother was an adult before she even laid eyes on a television set or an electric typewriter. Pondering all of these things from such a perspective certainly gave this forty-four year old an even greater appreciation for my mother and for the eighty years of living she has under her belt.
With these thoughts fresh in my mind, I told my mom yesterday how I had been thinking about her life and all that she had experienced. And I asked her, figuring it would be a tough question, what she ultimately viewed as the most significant single event or development that had occurred during her lifetime, in terms of its effect or impact on her. I told her that I could give her some time to think about it, if necessary. She quickly replied, "Oh, no, that's easy. If anything changed my life forever, it was the ability to take a hot shower."
Happy Birthday, Mom!
