Gregory Freeman: Mom's Day Gifts Are Repayments. 5/8/1994

Headline: MOM'S DAY GIFTS ARE REPAYMENTS
Reporter: By Gregory Freeman

Publication: ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Last Printed: Sun., May 8, 1994
Section: WAR PAGE, Page: 4B, Edition: FIVE STAR

ANOTHER MOTHER'S DAY.

Again, I've asked my mother what she wants for Mother's Day and again she has told me not to worry about it. It's almost a game that we have, of course. She tells me not to worry about a gift; I know that she would be disappointed without one.
   I know that it would bring her happiness just to see me and my son, her oldest grandchild, now 13 and stretching out as a plant does in spring.
   And of course, we will visit her today.
   But I will have a gift as well, if for no other reason than to tell her thanks for all she's done for me.
   I'm sure I haven't said that to her nearly enough.
   But she's always been there for me.

A retired schoolteacher, she loves to tell the story of how, at age 3, I would pull out editions of the newspaper and circle the words and letters I recognized. I was no genius. But I can remember all the time my mother spent with me, reading wonderful stories to me about people in faraway lands and times so different from our own.
I can still remember the warm feeling I had as a youngster, sitting cross-legged on the floor as she sat in a chair in our living room, reading those marvelous stories. I remember how those stories inspired me to want to ready myself, so that I could enjoy those stories and so much more.
I can recall how much fun she and my father had together. On occasion they would dance. My mother was - and I suspect, still is - a good jitterbugger, but I remember how she'd tell my Dad all the time that he had two left feet. They'd get a good laugh and go on dancing.

She's always been a strong woman, and my sister and I have tried to follow her example.
My father died when I was 14 and my sister was 10. My mother didn't cry at the funeral. Years later I asked her why, and she told me that she felt that she had to be strong for us. Her cries, I'm certain, were done in private.

It couldn't have been easy raising a son and a daughter on her own. But she did it, with nary a complaint along the way.
   As a teen-ager, I always thought that she was overprotective. I'd have to be home by a certain time. I couldn't go places unless she knew exactly where I was going - and had a phone number. On prom night, she stayed up until I was back home.
   Of course, as I look back on it, I realize that she did what she did because she cared about me. Unlike some kids I knew whose parents never knew or cared where they were, my mother always knew where I was.
   And I knew to follow the rules. If I had to be home from a party by 11 p.m., she was on the phone to the house where the party was given by 11:01 if I hadn't made it home. I followed the rules, if only to avoid those words that I found so embarrassing while a teen-ager: "Greg, your mother's on the phone!"
   And now I find many of her ways in myself as I watch my own son grow. The very traits that I thought were excessive as a teen, I find to be just right as an adult.

I've always known that I could count on my mother and maybe that's what's given me the confidence that I have. No matter what I did, she'd back me.
   When I first told her that I had decided to become a journalist instead of a lawyer, I sensed disappointment. There had never been a lawyer in our family, and I'm sure she was hoping that I would be the first.
   But she backed me regardless.
   I still remember her saying, "If that's what you want to do and it will make you happy, I wish you luck at it."
   She lost none of her pride in me. When I left St. Louis to work for a newspaper, she insisted that I send her copies. To this day, she saves copies of everything I write and is disappointed if I forget to tell her about a radio or television appearance.
   I've always been able to count on her for support. Throughout my life, when things have been bleakest, she's been there for me.

Like all of us, she's aging, but ever so gracefully. She's only begun to get a few gray hairs in recent years, unlike her son, whose hair seems to be graying at the speed of light. Her face - still without wrinkles for the most part - doesn't reveal the pain that my sister and I surely gave her at times as we were growing up.

Mothers are remarkable people. They bring you into the world and, if they're like my mother, keep an eye out for you no matter how old you get. And after nearly 38 years, I still get advice from mine.

So how do you say thanks for all of that? What gift could possibly be worthy?
None, really, but I'll have one for her anyway.
A small token for all that she's done for me over the years. She's one special woman.

Thanks, Mom.

Daniel Schesch - Webweaver

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