90% Gristle

A tribute to my mom.

Where do I begin a tribute to my mom? Words will fall short but I must try anyway.

I call her mom. Many of her work colleagues called her Louise. Most everybody else calls her Tink or Tinkerbell. That’s appropriate. She is, after all, 4’10” tall and never weighed more than 100 pounds sopping wet.

However, anyone who knows her, knows she’s larger than life. She’s left a lasting legacy anywhere she’s ever been. And anyone who knows her, knows not to be fooled by her diminutive stature. She’s feisty, tough and not easily intimidated. I like to say she’s 90% gristle. In elementary school other boys would say, “My dad can beat your dad up.” Not me I would say, “Well, my mom can beat your dad up.”

Tough is really an understatement. When I was just 5 years old, in a fit of drunken rage my father swatted me off our couch. My father was 6’2”, muscular and athletic. It wasn’t the first time alcohol had led to his violence in our home but it was the first time it was directed at me. Much like David standing up to Goliath, she got in his face and told him he may have gotten away with doing that to her but he would never again get that chance with me.

We left that night but not before he took his anger out on her. At 5 it felt like she took my beating. It still does. What courage and toughness it takes to leave a situation like that.

They divorced and we started over with nothing. We had help from family but mom worked two and three jobs, often 7 days a week to provide for us. We finally got our own apartment. I don’t remember ever going hungry or without what I needed. I do remember mom “not being hungry” a lot when she fixed meals. “You eat up, I’m not hungry.” I suspect differently now.

Mom bumped into her high school sweetheart several years after the divorce. I guess I was thirteen or so. They got married a couple years later and built a great life together. They were a good pair. Mike was the dad he didn’t have to be for me. I never called him stepdad. He was just dad. I am so grateful for mom’s courage to leave the situation we were in when I was a kid. I’m even more thankful that she brought Mike into my life.

Mom showed her toughness yet again when dad died after a routine surgical procedure. Even through her grief, she pressed on. Despite needing more help than I recognized, she never wanted to bother me by asking me for help. I am grateful for her Cornwallis Hills neighbors who helped out in immeasurable ways.

Mom is not just tough. She has always been fun loving. She simply cannot get through most situations without looking for humor. There are so many great stories to tell.

As a young boy she and my cousin would often coerce me into line by threatening to use a curling iron on a certain part of my anatomy. I was terrified when they started making curling irons with the brush built in.

I am too young to fully remember but I’ve seen the pictures of the time she dressed up in a red and white striped onesie and was going to try to embarrass my Uncle Corbett in front of one of his clients. It backfired though because my cousin knew what was happening and took her car so she had to walk home in a skin tight onesie.

When I was in kindergarten studying about Thanksgiving, I came home from school and asked my mom if she was waiting on Plymouth Rock when the pilgrims got to America. She assured me she was. The next day my teacher called her and chastised her because I was so proud telling everyone my mom was here when the pilgrims got here.

She once convinced my cousin’s husband that pasta grew on trees. He bought it hook, line and sinker. She couldn’t contain her amusement when he announced to a room full of people gathered for a party that he was going to buy some pasta trees.

When I was in third or fourth grade, my mom and my buddy’s mom were asked not to sit near each other again during a class presentation. They were visiting for a Christmas party in which our class did a reenactment of the biblical account of Jesus birth. My mom and her friend couldn’t contain their laughter when Mary appeared dressed, in their opinion, like a “woman of the night.”

She became the mascot of sorts at the Village Diner. Kids absolutely loved her and the special love she showed them. The patrons carried on all the time with her, picking and cutting up with her in a good natured way. One time she even sat down and grabbed food off a guest’s plate as a dare. All of Hillsborough knew Tink at the Village Diner.

Mom is generous to a fault. She takes great joy in doing for and giving to others. She has a knack for discovering what you like and taking every opportunity to lavish that on you. Chances are many reading this know exactly what I am talking about. I am sure I don’t know most of the times she found out someone had a need and decided to help them. Money, clothes, food, rent and whatever else was needed. Even now on a fixed income, she pinches her pennies so she can help those around her.

Mom took great pride in her work in insurance. If she were in her prime in today’s world, I have no doubt she would have climbed to high levels of leadership. Times were not so progressive then. As it were, she helped make those she worked for be even more successful.

Mom loves her kids and grandkids. She and Mike loved making the rounds on Christmas morning doling out gifts and reveling in watching the joy of the grand kids open presents. She loves bragging about us all. In fact now is a good chance to apologize if you have ever been cornered while she went on and on about us.

Mom loves animals. I suspect she got her love of birds from her mother. I would guess she has put out 100 tons of birdseed through the years. Even now, from her apartment window, she sits and watches the birds feast at the feeders she maintains.

Our roles are changing some now. I’ve had the honor to help her in ways she used to help me when I was younger. I open food and drinks for her these days.

Yet, she’s still mom. She’s still tough and feisty and fun and generous and proud and loving. She’s still my hero. She’s still bigger than life. She’s still mischievous and loves to stir the pot. She’s still in charge.

Heaven only knows her true impact during this life. But I suspect a lot of people have a front row seat to her legacy.

I couldn’t have handpicked a better mom. I thank God for you. I hope I can be half as tough as you.

I love you mom,

Carl