A Lighter View
Thanks, Mom
By K.E.H. Stagg

May 13, 2010

Although my mom is no longer with us, my sisters will attest to the fact that the wisdom she instilled in us during her lifetime will never dissipate. I’m sure every Dillsburg child—no matter what his or her age—can relate. You know what I’m talking about, nuggets of information you can’t learn from anyone but Mom:

Things like: “Don’t swim for at least an hour after you eat.” Right. Like the fish all flop up on land until their food digests. And how many of us ate ice cream right next to the neighborhood swimming pool and swam probably 10 minutes after the last gulp went down?

Here’s another good one: “It’s always fun until somebody puts an eye out.” C’mon, Mom! What was the last time anyone you knew put an eye out?! Even when we played lawn darts with the sharp pointed metal tips, we never put out our own or any of our cousins’ eyes.

As we got older, the Mom wisdom changed to suit our ages. “Always wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident.” I can’t swear to this since I’ve never taken a poll, but I seriously doubt whether Citizens Hose Company No. 1 employees even notice the state of people’s underwear when extricating them from vehicles. I could be wrong, but somehow I think that when the paramedics have to cut your clothes off to start IVs and affix monitoring devices, they’re focused on other things.

When my sisters and I reached a certain age, each of us came home from school to find a foundation garment lying on the bed. “You don’t want your fanny wiggling,” was Mom’s explanation for why my legs were about to blow off my body from being encased in an industrial strength material that I’m pretty sure was used in air dropping crates full of machinery during World War II.

It was from Mom I learned the importance of lipstick. “Don’t you want to put on a little lipstick?” she’d ask as I headed out the door. Never mind that my clothes were a fashion police’s nightmare, as I long as I wore lipstick, I was fit to be seen in public.

Another thing Mom taught me is “Always put the very best construction on the actions of others.” At the time, I hated this proverb because it meant that she didn’t support my complaint about teachers, erstwhile friends, whoever it was I knew with certainty was trying to do me an injustice. Instead of supporting my gripes, she’d suggest that perhaps the teacher was having a bad day, or my friend wasn’t feeling well. Who cares? I thought then. That’s no excuse for them to mistreat me! I was righteously indignant, but had no one to stoke my injured sense of justice.

Seriously, Mom prepared me for eternity and meeting God face to face, having followed the example of His Son in loving God “with all my heart, soul, mind and strength; and my neighbor as myself.”

Part of that preparation included the instruction that good manners are always appropriate. No matter who I’m dealing with, if I extend common courtesy even—or especially—when it hasn’t been shown to me, I can make life more pleasant for everyone around me.

Another key part of that instruction is the realization that everything is temporary. Her example taught me to “rejoice with those who rejoice” and to “weep with those who weep,” reminding me that no matter how good things are now, they won’t always be that way; and no matter how bad things are, they won’t always be that way, either.

When I grow up, If I can be half the woman my mom was, I will have succeeded, indeed.

Thanks, Mom!