But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings. My sister and
two
brothers had the same mean mother as I did.
My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times.
You'd think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and
where we were going. She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that we be
gone one hour or less--not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit
it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own
and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to
hold up Daddy's pants. Can you imagine someone actually hitting a child just
because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was.
We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids
always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she
made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a
mother who made us feel different from our friends?
The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each
night
and up at eight the next morning. We couldn't sleep till noon like our
friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the
child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to
cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking
up mean things to do to us.
She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth
and
nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did.
By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our life
became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to
come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come
to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine
she checked on me to see if I were really there. I never had the chance to elope
to Mexico. That is if I'd had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention,
while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned
mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if
you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.
Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not
lie
in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school. If our
friends
had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home
from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends' report cards
had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother
being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black
marks.
As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was
put
to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us,
talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of
being a drop-out.
My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of
four
children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us have
ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of my brothers served his
time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the
terrible way we turned out? You're right, our mean mother. Look at the things we
missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot,
burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did.
She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest
adults. Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three
children. I
stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my
children call me
mean.
Because, you see, I thank God,
He gave me the meanest mother
in the whole world.
