It's Mom's Fault

Through the years, my sons have often teased me about my good posture and how, while they were growing, I wouldn’t tolerate slouching. “Mom’s fault,” I’d say with a smile.

Although no genius, as my sons often point out, they are also just as quick to comment on how much I do know. They call me a walking encyclopedia of nonsensical trivia. Once again, I shrug and say, Mom’s fault.”

My sons marvel at my creativity. Something, it seems they exchanged at birth for their ability in sports. While I consider myself to be a certified, born klutz, I can sit and compose a poem within five minutes – and never seem to run out of subjects about which to write. It’s still ‘Mom’s Fault,” I say happily.

Whatever pluses I have racked up through the years, I attribute to my mom. The minuses are my refusal to learn what she tried to teach.

While my mom was never what was considered a strict disciplinarian, when it came to schoolwork, she was tough. I remember as soon as I could talk, she’d drill me every me every Saturday morning. Using two pages at a time of the dictionary, she would read each word, emphasizing on its pronunciation, encouraging me to try and spell it correctly.

Back then, luckily, the dictionaries were small. Mom kept track of the words I misspelled in order for me to study them for the following Saturday.

By the time I reached Kindergarten, I found it easy to read whole sentences. Soon, my “home education” expanded adding Math to my list of things to learn. After my spelling and reading lessons, Mom gave me two sheets of paper with arithmetic problems to solve.

Finally reaching the fourth grade, my Saturday lessons took on a new atmosphere. Story writing and poetry began. Small grade arithmetic became upper grade math.

Mom never confined her idea of teaching to just schoolwork. She believed in a healthy mind and healthy body. While I’d be pouring over homework, if Mom saw me slouching, she’d quietly walk behind me and gently touch my back with one finger.

Without one word spoken, I would immediately straighten to a more proper position.

For about three minutes a day, three times each week, I would have to stand with my back against the wall. “Touch your heels to the wall. Now, your butt! Head up and back; shoulders back! Stomach in!” I know, I know. She sounded like a drill sergeant, but it kept my posture intact and my spine straight.

When I was four, she enrolled me in dance class; not just any dance; it had to be ballet. She didn’t care if I didn’t learn to dance. She wanted me to be graceful. However, the older I got, the more she realized, that was never to be. I just grew to be more of a klutz. But Mom tried.

Most of my friends learned to cook while their moms stood at their sides verbally instructing their every move. Mom’s method differed completely. Handing me a recipe, she’d back away. Her reason was simple. Anyone can mimic; anyone can follow step-by-step instructions as each is given. It’s more important to read and comprehend. As she often said, “Following a recipe teaches you to learn to follow any instructions.” However, she remained in the kitchen with me – just in case.

Mom believed in teaching by example, not by using a bunch of words. Too often, my friends heard their moms say. “Do as I say, not as I do.” Never once did I hear that phrase from my mom. I also never heard the more familiar, “Because I said so.”

Mom would often take me for long walks in the park, weather permitting. At times, we’d go for a train ride to the local zoo or museum. Once a month from June to September, mom and dad would pack a lunch and we would head to the nearby lake for a picnic.

In addition to schoolwork, mom taught me to appreciate the beauty of a flower, the wonder of a rainbow, and the compassion needed for those less fortunate (like the WWII Veteran who sat legless on the street corner begging for a few cents to help him get by.) Even though money was tight, we never passed him by without Mom dropping a few cents in his little tin cup.

She also taught me that although life is not perfect, we must strive for that goal and not be disappointed if we fail. Mom taught me the appreciation of demanding work. “After all,” she said, “the harder you work the more you appreciate the end result. If things came too easily, we would take those things for granted.”

Yes, mom taught me many things: reading, spelling, love, and life.

Now, here I am in my seventies. Mom passed away a number of years ago but even at my age, I am in good health. I still sit properly, and my back is straight.

While I never went to college (as I said money was tight), my knowledge and education about what matters is exemplary. I am not afraid to tackle new projects and while I strive to succeed, I don’t sulk if I fail. I just change my attitude and try again.

My sons now, are grown with families of their own and emulate Mom’s parenting as much as possible. I insisted on rearing my children the way Mom reared me, with compassion, understanding right from wrong, a thirst of knowledge, and fun in doing everything.

I have been a good mother and teacher to my sons (they told me to say that), and I can see what wonderful husbands and fathers they are in every way (their wives told me to say that!). Mom would be so proud of them.

The reason for our successes in maintaining such happy homes, I feel is simple.

It’s Mom’s Fault.