I looked over at the coffeepot. ‘I’d ask you ladies if you want some coffee, but a man came in here and made it a while ago, and it ain’t…isn’t…fit for ordinary humans to drink.”
–Patrick Lindsay (Pike Hardy)
Grab yur cup, Pard, fill ‘er up to the brim, take a sip first, then let’s lift it up high in a salute to mothers. Tomorrow’s Mothers Day, if’n yuh haven’t forgotten. Even though she ain’t my mother, I got the missus some flowers–she is the mother of our children, and a right good and special one for sure.
Pard, let me tell yuh, this ol’ fence post has seen all types of mothers in my life. I’ve seen the good, the bad, the ugly, and even the uglier. My mercy, there are some doozies out there. If’n yuh have a good mom be thankin’ the Lord. I’ve seen mean moms, moms that never seem to smile but always grimace. They’re the kind that have raised their kids to exasperation and now are reapin’ the rewards. They try to cover it up with the excuse of fightin’ for them, but really they are just hidin’ their failures.
Let me tell yuh ’bout one. She didn’t want her two girls so she gave them up and her parents adopted them. Come graduation time she came to the office demandin’ for their records. The records weren’t hers, in fact, at that time they belong to the kids. She screamed, cursed, and finally sat down in the middle of the floor refusin’ to budge. One good thing, the girls were raised by their grandparents. Pard, let me tell yuh there are all types.
I won’t go into the evil ones, the ones who force their children into evil and wicked lifestyles. This is a day to celebrate mothers. My mercy, where would we be without the nurturer of the home? I was fortunate enough to have three fill the position of “mom.” I lived with and was raised primarily by my grandma and aunt. Mom was workin’ most of the time, but she was around. It was my grandma and aunt who took me to church. Mom didn’t become a Christian until quite late in life.
“Give me a son, Lord!” was the cry of Hannah, “And I’ll give him back to you.” Pard, yuh don’t look like much with coffee droolin’ off yur chin, but yuh have a good mom to instill manners and a tender heart within yuh. Yuh wipe yur chin an’ try to do her good. Listen, when the mothers quit followin’ through with the responsibility that the good Lord gave them we are in trouble. When the home is not filled with a mother’s prayers, we are in trouble. That ol’ pard who has crossed the great divide wrote, “She is the mother of the race, and if the race is to progress instead of retrogress, she has to hold herself more sacred than men do.” Zane Grey got it right, she is the keeper of the hearth; it is the mother who makes the home.