Updated: May 14
I’M HEADING INTO MY MID-SEVENTIES and these days I often reflect on what a wonderful woman my mother was, likely refreshed in early May by all the media buzz for the up-and-coming Mother’s Day celebration. The real kicker in my family, my dad was equally amazing and their teamwork as parents was simply remarkable. Kudos to them both even after all these years.
My parents used to smile about the many paths I embarked on in my life but never overrode my decisions and were always most supportive even if it involved being tight-lipped at times. One exception to this rule was my short-sightedness in attending the second day of the Detroit riots in 1967 with my friends in my dad’s brand-new Buick Wildcat. That act got me grounded for a few nights. Curiosity sometimes kills the cat, as they say.
My parents met the challenges of raising five children with their tolerable discipline and rather laissez-faire approach to good grades, sex, and alcohol. I’m unsure about the order of influence on me, but all these areas were mine to discover on my own after turning thirteen. I progressed nicely in two out of three - not a bad batting average.
I’m reading a DeMille book written twenty years ago and in the banter between the two protagonists, the female states that the male is “difficult for me to love.” The male reacts to her remark by expressing, “My mother loves me.” This cracked me up, but it summarizes the position I routinely used in processing criticism from my several wives. I only dealt with them one at a time but a pattern was clearly being evidenced. Relationships are hard.
As we head to celebrate our mothers I find joy in my reflections and think back in complete fondness for how my mother, and father, lived their lives in harmony and balance. It’s hard to separate the two individuals, so why do it? They were a force and a team.
Happy Mother and Father’s Day all wrapped into one.
They were a great couple and great parents.