How Much Postage Do I Put on this Letter?

Dear Mom,

Remember that time when I was about ten or eleven years old, and I was putting together a plastic model car? I think it was either the Blue Beetle or the Little ‘T’. Anyway, I was having problems with painting it, so I moaned and whined and begged you for help.

I remember your response rather clearly. You said, “Painting a plastic model car is detailed work. The car parts are small. The tip of the brush is sort of big. Your hands are big. The paint is thick. How’s your eyesight, by the way? I think it’s pretty normal to shake a bit when you try to do that.”

And then you took the paint-brush out of my hand and dipped it in the paint bottle. As you drew the glistening, paint-filled tip out of the container, and moved it toward the plastic car part you were holding in your other hand, you began to shake. It was an exaggerated shake – one that startled me. It startled me to the point where I had to holler, “Stop. I’ll do it mom.” And then I took the brush back into my command and finished the painting of the model by myself

You know that, as a kid, I was never bored. I had a million interests. I had hundreds of hobbies it seemed. Often, I pursued an interest, to the point of making it a hobby. Once one of my interests became a full-fledged hobby, it soon became an obsession and I would feed it and massage it and coddle it for days, or weeks or even months on end. I was also a bit of a perfectionist. Whatever interest I pursued, to the point of making it a hobby / obsession, had to be done with care and precision. My finished products had to be more than perfect. Building plastic model cars, airplanes, boats, and motorcycles became one of my hobbies for about three years in my life between the ages of 11 and 14. Because of my desire to do things perfectly, I sometimes lamented over my limited skill in maintaining a steady hand while I painted those plastic models. I would complain to you that, “I shouldn’t even be doing this. My hand shakes too much every time the brush even comes near the plastic.” You would then do something to help me feel that I was, in fact, better at performing the task than anyone else around. After watching your spastic hand attempt to paint a model car, I even felt sorry for your pathetic efforts as I continued my work.

I always used to worry about writing exams in school. On the night before, I would worry so much about failing the exam the next day, that I found it really difficult to study. I would ask you to help me study or I would get you to ask me questions. If I got any of the questions wrong, I would think that I didn’t know anything. You were good at asking me questions that you knew I would know the answer for. That always built up my confidence. It helped me not to worry so much. Later on, when it was bed-time, I wouldn’t be able to sleep because I was still thinking about the exam or test the next day. So, you would read my notes to me or you would tell me a story about how you used to worry too, when you had exams – but you would do really well so, it made you wonder why you did all that worrying. You told me that I was the same way. You knew I would probably get 100% on the exam, so I should just relax and get a good night’s sleep. Then I would get 100% (most of the time) and I would wonder why I worried so much. But I could never have done it without you.

It was the same with sports. I thought that I wasn’t good enough to play hockey or baseball. You would play catch with me and you would purposely drop the ball or make a bad throw, just to make me feel better about myself. You would fall down on the ice, to make me feel I was a better skater. You sacrificed your pride to build up mine and make me the star.

I am surprised that, with all the care and kindness you were required to pass my way, that you ever had time to do anything for yourself. But you did find time for you and for plenty of others in the family (including your other two children), the community and the world. You coached and you were a leader in '4-H' for ever. You were such an important part of the church and such a brilliant and caring 'rock' for anyone else in the area who needed a little extra love or some of your, now world-famous, short-bread cookies. Each of the thousands and thousands of short-bread cookies that you made, brought a little (or a lot of), joy into the recipients.

And then, you taught me how to make short-bread cookies. And, I in turn, taught all of my students in China how to make short-bread cookies, using your recipe and because those students have so much respect for any traditions and cultures, they followed that recipe to the last letter. Now, your cookies are being made anywhere in the world where those students go and where I go.

For my entire life, you had a way of making me feel that I was the best person for the job, no matter what the job was. You convinced me of that. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, you were my hero. You held the world at bay for me and taught me about the benefits of patience with myself and those around me. You made me feel good about myself and worthy of being a child of the planet and the universe. You were the first hero in my life.

Thanks for helping me be the person I am Mom. You were the best mom in the world for a guy like me.

All the Best, your son,

John