Hunny

Gorgeous, strong-willed, intelligent, with no formal education and a whole lot of crazy, that was my Hunny, my mother.

I entered school in 1957 and quickly realized that my mother was unlike other mothers. She didn’t attend PTA or parent-teacher meetings. Her mindset was on earning her own money. Her goal was not to be dependent on anyone, especially my father.

She attended school during the day and worked at a bicycle plant at night. A plant she was almost fired from for organizing her coworkers. No matter what she was threatened with, she did not back down and was responsible for bringing the Union into her plant. Conditions in the plant did get better, but the asbestos she worked with every day before the plant “clean-up” did its damage early on, although she would never admit it. You see, being ill, being emotional, or heaven forbid crying was not something my mother would do or at least not admit to doing.

So, how was it to be raised by such a woman? Let's list the adjectives beyond gorgeous, strong-willed, and intelligent that would apply to Hunny: courageous, generous, charming, interesting, loving, caring, and proud to a fault. However, she was also arrogant, vindictive, frightening, cold, and, to tell you the truth, confusing as hell. When you grow up with a mother like that, you learn to adjust to the ever-changing landscape she created.

Let's go on a brief roller coaster ride that was my childhood—the excitement, exhilaration, fear, and pure heaven that was my life with Hunny.

Once Hunny graduated, she set out to buy her own business, not knowing a thing about running one. A minor detail like that would never stop her. My father, a good old boy, wanted no part of it. He refused to invest in her venture. However, something as trivial as start-up cash was not going to stop her, and the business opened right on schedule. She never revealed where or how she got the money, but she got it.

You have to forgive my telling of this convoluted tale because my upbringing comes to me in cameos, and that is how I must write it. I know that I have survived the events in my life because I survived Hunny. I even survived my death.

Not my actual death but the death my mother dramatically announced to her friends and salon patrons. Later, when I appeared alive and well, I explained that I had not actually died; I was just dead to her. But dead to her meant that I was dead to everyone. Some actually believed her, while others attempted to resurrect me. But in her eyes, I was dead and gone, not to be spoken to or spoken of.

I was lucky as I was only dead for about six months until I was resurrected by having my heart broken. You have never seen someone so elated by her daughter’s misery. The “I told you so’s” almost exploded from her the first time she acknowledged my miraculous return from the grave. She held me while I cried and showered me with all the love she had withheld and offered to kill the responsible party if I wanted. I didn’t agree because, knowing my mother, this was probably not a flippant offer.

I loved her even at her craziest, and I was inspired by her determination to succeed in a time when women were supposed to take a back seat to their husbands. The more my father and others tried to crush her dreams, the more determined she was to achieve them.

From purchasing a Cartier Edition Mark IV to buying a boat that my father would never “sit his ass in.” She was always pushing the limits. She loved walking around the house naked (I hated that), keeping our Christmas tree up all year, and befriending everyone from strippers to excommunicated nuns (there are lots of stories there). If you were a member of a marginalized group in the 60s, you would find a friend in Hunny.

How did I benefit from being raised by such a woman?

Fear of trying something new is not in my makeup. I can recover from about anything. After all, I survived my death. A lack of education, experience, or money has never deterred me from pursuing my dreams. I accept and celebrate all people; the more different they are from what society calls the norm, the more attractive they are to me.

I have Hunny to thank for my open mind, business success, and failure in romantic relationships. But I love life and all she has to offer. I am happy, and nothing can destroy that because I was brought up in this world by a true force of nature called Hunny.