I REMEMBER MOTHER

Another in a series of coming-of-age stories.

I remember Mother as the only female in a house full of men—my father and his three sons. Even our dogs and cats were all male.

I remember Mother and the clubs she belonged to. The Book Club. The Flower Club. Her Kappa Kappa Gamma college sorority club.  

I remember Mother for all her volunteer work. The Church.  The Library. The Hospital. Serving as an Air Raid Warden during the War.

I remember Mother for teaching me how to Charleston long after the Charleston was dead. When the occasion would arise (around once a year) it would make up for my total clumsiness on the dance floor.

I remember Mother for introducing me to classical music. From the time I was 12 she took me to all the Thursday concerts with George Szell at Severance Hall—originally because my Father refused to go but later because I wanted to.

I remember Mother for the mustard plasters she used to slap on the chests of my brothers and me when we had bad colds. They were hot as blazes but they always seemed to work.

I remember Mother for constantly asking me and my brothers privileged questions about who we were dating—but seldom getting any answers.

I remember Mother for giving far more than she received. 

I remember Mother.