They Call Her Carmeline

My mother is the strongest woman I know. She was born in 1947 just as WWII was ending and grew up in a time period before a woman could get a checking account or business loan without a male cosigner. She still had a lot of fun working as a carhop, a waitress and on the Johnny Cash show in the 1970’s before she settled down and had kids.

My mother taught me how to have a strong marriage. She taught me that my role in my marriage is to control the emotional climate of my household. My husband works long hours and I’m not one to bicker over things that don’t matter. My husband and I have been together for 15 years and married for 10 of those years. In that time period we have had trials so incomprehensible that fighting over trivial things is simply pointless.

My mother taught me about her relationship with her mother. I look at the way the world was when my mother was coming of age. By age 30 in 1977, she had two kids and was a working single mom with the help of her own mother. When my grandmother found out my mother was pregnant with my oldest brother, there was no condemnation despite her religious beliefs. She simply said “Bring him to me and I will raise him if you cannot”.

My mother taught me her favorite words of wisdom. She has always been a fighter and she did her best to raise us. She taught me how to be a wife more than anything else. I can hear her words now, “Never go to bed angry with each other”, “Always talk it out”, “Be on the same page” and “Vote with your husband politically”.

My mother taught me that she got her strength from her history. I got my religious faith from my mother’s mother. Grandma knew the Bible forwards and backwards and three of my mom’s brothers are preachers. My grandmother had faith that could move mountains. Where ever she lived she would be part of the local church. Members would go to her house looking for counseling and prayer. She shared her faith with everyone she met.

My grandmother was a firecracker of Irish and Native American descent. Her and my grandfather fist-fought daily. My mother hated that about them, and vowed to be a peacekeeper in her own home. Even though my mother won’t let people bait her in petty disagreements over politics, religion and philosophy she prides herself in “never letting anyone lead her around by the nose.”

My mother taught me artistic expression. She has this strength and willfulness; this fire and passion for spirituality, meaning, and purpose. My mother does wonderful art, poetry, and song writing. She is the creative one out of my parents. My father is a left handed, color blind lawyer that failed art in 1st grade. My third grade teacher told my mom that I was unusual because I was both highly analytical and highly creative. My mother then, of course, credited that combination to her and my father’s traits. My brother likes to tease me. He always tells me, “Katherine you got it all. You have mom’s looks and dad’s brains.” I’m grateful that I remain close to my whole family even though I’m grown now.

We have strong roots. My parents have owned the same house, and had the same home-phone number, for 42 years. I’ve never lived more than 5 miles from my parents house. My mother always believed in me no matter how bleak things looked. She was there for me when I was filled with doubt and fear. She’s always supported my writing even as far back as 3rd grade. Most of all, my mother taught me to be proud of myself, to hold my head high and remember where I came from.