Dear Mom,
I want you to know how much love and admiration I have for you in my heart forever. I'm thirty-six years old now; possibly half-way through my life. I'm a husband and a father. I have a career. I pay the bills. I have my ways. I have my opinions. What I'm trying to say is, I am a man. Grown up for certain. And it's from this place in my life that I'd like to share with you the ways in which you are part of who I've grown up to be. Probably I've never told you. Many may surprise you. Maybe some of the lessons you did not intend. But one thing is for certain, they are things I hope to pass onto my children, and I owe them all to you. They are great life lessons, and when I consider their value I think, "I got them from my mother."
Like giving. Maybe you notice that I make an effort to be giving with my money, to charities and people in need. Probably you don't know about the times in which I give spontaneously because someone admired something I had, so I simply said, "Here, take it. It's yours." Yes, I learned my giving from you mom, by example. I'll never forget how you'd give anything you owned to someone you barely knew, if in your heart you thought it would make them happier or help them along. Like when you gave Mica, I think that was the young aspiring actor's name, the Volvo. I'll never forget that. I watched you with kid eyes and thought, "Wow, my mom just gave away our car." I grew up to think that was a beautiful and incredible thing you did.
Another thing I learned from you is the importance of earning it for yourself. I can't tell you how many times I look around my home and am astonished by the good feeling that stirs inside me when I remember, all this -- house, furniture, appliances, necessities, luxuries -- I earned. And each time I remember wanting a little red pocket knife as a kid. Asking you for it and hoping you'd just buy it for me. But instead, you said I had to earn it. I had to write an essay on why I deserved it. And I had to pay half for it. Of course, at the time I wished I had an easier parent, but now, I cherish the lesson because all the good things I have in life came because I knew how to earn them. And because of your lesson, I know it feels much better to have stuff you earned than to have things you were given.
I also learned the importance of play from you Mom. Maybe you could have guessed this one. But possibly you don't know how I learned this lesson from you. There's a particular memory that I will never forget. It's when you knew that my friends and I were going to trespass on the Mill property to get our kicks. And you knew it was illegal. Possibly a place where I could get hurt. But what you said was "Be careful." In my mind, and maybe you did say it, you added, "And have fun." Whether or not you actually said "And have fun," isn't important because that's the lesson I took from it. I thought you were the greatest parent in the world because in that moment (and many others) you recognized how much benefit I was getting from having fun.
Mom, do you know that I will always remember Farrell's Ice Cream Parlour and Shakey's Pizza? I'll tell you why. Because at Farrell's we were always celebrating each other. With you, celebrating one another's accomplishments was always the most important thing. It's a habit that is deeply instilled in me. If you hadn't shown me how to celebrate, I'd be like too many other people I know -- letting many important deeds of loved ones go unnoted. I feel so fortunate that I had you, the best parent in the world at celebrating the things I did. I also am grateful that you valued family outings so much --- like the special trips we'd make to our local Shakey's. I know you were raising us on less money than bills, and that it would have been easier for you to have us always eat at home, but somehow you saw past your own financial challenges and always found a way to treat our family good times. At Shakey's we'd get Pizza, old time movies, a few games, and most of all, the pleasure of your always cheerful attitude. So mom, maybe you didn't know it but each time I go somewhere with my wife and daughter, like Chuckie Cheese, it is rooted in my good old days at Shakey's. Because of you, I try and continually take the time to go out with my family for a good time, no matter what.
Shakey's reminds me of another gift you gave me Mom. Remember how you'd always set us free to play as we desire, giving us enough room and responsibility to feel like we were largely our own bosses? Well if you don't, I do. I remember one incident especially. When I was in the fourth grade, you got pulled into a parent/teacher meeting by the sister who oversaw St. Francis School. She was upset because I refused to play in the organized recess activities, which was basically kickball. "Patrick refuses to play kickball, and instead he is organizing kids to play some other game, in the trees," she said to you. (I wanted to pretend we were S.W.A.T. team members, you if you remember). Anyhow, I thought for certain you were going to say, "Well, I'll talk to him and tell him he has to participate in kickball." But instead you said, "Sister, my son told me you wanted him to play kickball, and then he looked up the word 'recess' in the dictionary and told me it means "free time." So I'm going to back up my son here. It's his free time and he can do whatever he wants with it as long as it's not interfering with what other kids want to do." Now, it ended up resulting in you having to pull me out of that school that protect my "free time" rights and obviously that cost you time and money, but Mom, in that single event you forever made me feel in charge of my life. I could cry telling you how deeply grateful I am to you for this gift. Quite possibly, with that single action you set me up for a life time of being my own boss, feeling in control of my life, and never being afraid of challenging rules I didn't agree with. Obviously, giving this same gift to my daughter is one of my highest parental aspirations.
As you are well aware, there's a flip-side to the freedom you gave me. You also kept me on a short-leash! Very, very short at times. At least the shortest-leash of any of my friends. You know what I'm talking about, don't you! Remember how you ALWAYS knew where I was? And if you didn't, I was in BIG trouble? And remember how there were some things I could NOT do, no matter how many other kids could - like having to be home before midnight, during my senior year! Yes, I certainly remember feeling like I had the strictest possible parent next to Fidel Castro. But it did what you said it would. It kept me out of trouble. And now I see how right you were when you said, "Kids say they want a lot of freedom, but what really makes them feel loved is knowing they have boundaries and where those boundaries are." Mom, I knew I could do all kinds of things like the mill-trespassing I mentioned at the top of this letter, but I also knew I things like drinking and drugging were outside of my boundaries. So you taught me how to be safe.
Velty and Harold -- I know your heart hurts a bit when you think of those two boys. You took them into our house because their mother was neglecting them and they were suffering from it; getting into trouble at school and with the law. Was it a year that they lived with us, or two? I know you wished you could have done more for them, to protect them entirely from the hard lives they've ended up living, but I'll share with you how you're taking them in affected me. At first, I hated it; having to share my room, my stuff, my house and mom seemed unfair, especially for a 10th grader! Plus, we barely made ends meet, so it just seemed like they were taking from what little we had. (Hey, the trailer house wasn't that big to begin with). But I remember you telling us over and over that Velty and Harold needed love, and that we could help them a lot by sharing all we had. Well, you were right. Their lives and happiness soared during those two years and somehow God continued to provide for all we needed. That Velty and Harold's lives fell back into trouble when they set out on their own was not your fault, but rather the result of how many years they were raised without the love of family. But mother, you taking them in indelibly imprinted upon me that importance of helping others. Perhaps you've noticed that in my adult life, I've taken people into my home that need help. It's because of you that I always will.
Perhaps you noticed that when relating the story of Velty and Harold I said "we barely made ends meet." Perhaps to others it sounded childish for me to remember it as "we barely made ends meet" and instead of "you." But I know that you know why I said it. The "three way system" is what you called it. It was a house rule for as long as I can remember. All of my earnings were divided three-ways: one-third to the house, one third to savings, and one-third to spend as I wish. I remember bringing home a mere three dollars from pulling weeds all day for the neighbor, and having to divide even that paltry sum three ways! Putting a third into savings wasn't easy, but even tougher was giving a third to the house. "A third to the house allows you to pitch in and know that you're contributing to everything we have too," you'd say. Well, almost twenty years have passed since I've been free from your three-way money rule, yet I continue to do it. I'll tell you why. I can see how your rule with money gifted me a strong sense of participation in our family matters, and excellent money management skills. As an adult, I find it easy and important to always divide my earnings up between savings, obligations, gifting, and luxuries. There's not a textbook or college course that has ever articulated money management to me as well as you did.
I'm already on page four of this letter. I hope you realize that fact that I've got yet more still to tell you about how your parenting positively affected me is testament alone to how great a parent you were. What to tell you next? Well, since I was just talking about money, I guess I'll bring up another money memory of mine. The Carnival came to the town next door, Redmond Oregon, and you took Mike and I there. To this day I remember laying eyes on all the big rides, the Ferris Wheel, the Hammer Head, the Octopus, the Monkey Cage, and wanting to ride them all, over and over all day. You kindly gave us each a sum of money sufficient to ride them all once. Perhaps it was five dollars. And it went quickly. Then I remember racing back to you, and Mike and I saying, "Mom, can we have more money please? We want to go on more rides!" Do you remember how you responded? Whether it was true or not, and I believe it was, you said, "Boys, I don't have more money to give you." I was crushed. I wanted a parent that had more money. You weren't done talking. "But look around boys -- see all the trash lying around everywhere? Go to that trailer over there; it's the carnival office. And ask there person inside if they'll give you tickets for every bag of trash you pick up." In that moment, I REALLY wanted a parent who had more money. But as you always did, you gently and verbally pushed my brother and I to do it. Honestly, I don't remember talking to the carnival manager, but I remember running excitedly around that carnival riding rides to my hearts desire, all because I'd discovered how a little entrepreneurial effort could magically transform trash into cash! Mom, that day at the Carnival, because you said such a smart thing, you ensured me the ability to ride all the rides of my dreams my entire life. (And for the record, now you know the real reason I've been able to make a living teaching others how to achieve their dreams no matter what the challenges).
Speaking of how you taught me to succeed, there's another incident in my life that you probably don't remember at all, but that I'll never forget. It was my senior year in track and I was racing in a Cross-country race that took place at Deschutes Park. For the purpose of this story I'll brag: I was the best runner on the team, the second best runner in the district. You came out to watch me run that day. You stood by my teammate Herb Vloedman's father. You remember Herb's father, I'm sure. He always had a stop watch, a clipboard, and thorough knowledge of the details of Herb's speed. Anyhow, that day when I finished the race, you had a question for me and you were visibly upset. "Patrick, what is your best split for the first mile? Mr. Vloedman asked me and I didn't know." I told you my split time and wondered a bit to myself what it would be like to have a parent that keep meticulous track of my Personal Best Times and splits. But knowing that that just wasn't you, and seeing that the conversation with Mr. Vloedman was still upsetting you, I asked you what was said between the two of you. "He asked me what you time was and I said, 'I don't know. I just know he looks beautiful when he runs.' -- I'm sorry son, I'm probably a terrible parent." And standing in front of me I could see that you truly worried that you weren't half the parent Mr. Vloedman was. But at the same time I stood there knowing that I had the best parent in the world. Because through my parents eyes winning and losing didn't matter - only trying. And from then on I knew I looked beautiful when I tried. So I've tried and taken many risks in life.
Mom, these are just some of the gifts you gave me growing up, just by being your wonderful self. Assuredly, the longer I thought about it, the more I'd come up with, but there are two more that I'd like to share before I conclude this letter. The first happened in 1997. Remember that was the year you packed up your home, sold most of your stuff, quit your job, and left your friends and family, all for the sake of moving to England for one year-- your first time outside of the country! Your friends said you were crazy for doing it. Hell, going meant the loss of the health insurance you'd worked so hard to finally get. Well, perhaps you don't know it, but at least one person didn't think you were crazy and that person was me. I thought you were amazing! I'll never forget it. What I witnessed was my mom demonstrating how important it is to keep taking risks throughout all my days. To forever strive to live my life to the fullest. So see -- you continue to teach me long after I left home, all the way into my 30's!
Well Mom, I'm one share away from being done. If through these memories you've haven't gotten the direct message, it's that I am entirely and eternally grateful for being born to you, the best parent I could ever imagine. That you did double duty as a single mom is something I cannot comprehend nor ever properly thank you for. But should you ever doubt that I love or respect or value you, immediately wipe that thought from your mind because I do and always will.
And now I'll share the last memory for this letter. It's not the way you often burned the meals and set off the smoke alarms. It's not the hard work you continually assigned me to whether it was chopping wood, cleaning the shed, or raising the level of the yard with two dump truck loads of dirt -- because I could have done without all that! Not to mention that it's only recently --18 years later-- that I've begun to regain my ability to stand yard work. It's also not a memory of the groundings, the confiscations, or the phrase, "Look it up in the encyclopedias, that's what I bought those damn things for!" No mom, its the memory of you being visibly afraid sometimes, scared because you didn't know how you were going to make ends meet, and worried that you wouldn't succeed in raising your two boys right, all by yourself on a LPN's salary. Quite frankly, as a parent of one with a wife to help and an income to make it easy, Mom, I don't know how the hell you did it. But you do. And actually so do I. It's the last thing you indelibly impressed upon me. Do you know now what it is? The thing that got you through everything when you didn't know how? I must have heard you say a thousand times, "Boys, say your prayers because God will take care of us." Mom, I say my prayers still because I saw your faith in God pull us through. So thank you.
Thank you Mom, for everything. And I mean everything. Someday you won't be here any longer, but you will always be present in who I am, and you will always be remembered, you will always be missed, and you will always and spoken about to your grandchildren because you didn't just do a good job raising your two boys all by yourself, you did a great job.
I love you Mer. Always your youngest son, Traterick. |
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It was suggested to me that it's a good idea to write your parents a letter appreciating the lessons you learned from them, especially the lessons they may not even be aware of having taught. I did it, read it to my mother with her friends gathered round to witness, and many tears ensued. I wholeheartedly recommend giving this gift to your parent(s) or anyone significant in your life.
"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around."
-Leo Buscaglia |
