I submitted the following letter to the newspaper this month:
Dear Editor,
Besides the sunny warm weather that accompanies spring and summer, two occasions make these seasons special for me. They are Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. I heard, recently, about a little boy who is struggling with Mother’s Day this year. It will be the first time he has had to spend this day without his recently departed mom. Hearing about his grief was a reminder of how blessed I am to still have my own mom to celebrate. I have a friend whose mother passed a few years ago. This holiday also continues to be hard for her.
Many children have to endure other painful scenarios. Take, for instance, three foster children I know who are four years of age or under. They all consistently verbalize their desire to see their parents. I wonder how their little minds will process the festivities associated with Mother’s Day. I am also acquainted with a sibling group whose mom left their dad for their dad’s sister-in-law. Will they continue, this year on Mother’s Day, to recognize their former aunt as Aunt Jane, or will they buy gifts for two moms?
The pain caused by the death of a mother can’t be helped, but choices play into the other aforementioned scenarios. I am extremely grateful for the choices that my parents made because they affected me. Their choices made me a happy child! Maybe that’s why I anticipate Mother’s and Father’s Day. These days are special opportunities to honor my parents.
Before I go any further, let me set the record straight. My happiness as a child was not a result of having an abundance of things. I often wore second-hand clothes. We rarely experienced the luxury of eating out at restaurants. And, we usually drove vehicles that were several years old; lucky for us Dad could keep almost any thing running and make it look good on top of that.
No, happiness was not about things, and it wasn’t about having a perfect family. My happiness resulted from being loved immensely, feeling security in Mom’s and Dad’s clearly defined roles, and having a faith in God instilled in me through consistent attendance at church and through my parents’ example.
So what did this brand of happiness look like? On a typical school day, I would get up and get dressed. Mom would prepare breakfast for my siblings and myself. Dad had already left for work at the factory by this time. In the afternoon, when I got off the bus and began walking up the driveway, I would often see clothes hanging on the clothesline, waving in the breeze. When I walked into the clean house, I was greeted by the most wonderful smells. Mama almost had supper cooked by 3:30 because Daddy liked it served early, and Daddy was the head of the house. When Dad got home he would go into the kitchen where Mama was cooking and give her a hug. He would sit down at the dining table and he and Mom would talk about what went on in their day. Then we would all gather at the table, and someone (usually Daddy) would say the Blessing over the food. My brother and sister and I had the opportunity to share our day with our parents and to listen to their grown-up talk. After dinner my sister or I would do dishes, depending on whose turn it was.
On the weekends my handy-man Dad filled his days mowing the lawn, working in the garden, repairing things that were broken etc. When Mom wasn’t doing her routine chores, she spent her time canning vegetables, sewing, upholstering our furniture, and a plethora of other domestic tasks.
I recently read an article called “Breaking the Silence” It shared the stories of five individuals who filed amicus briefs when the Supreme Court was deciding a case that highly impacted families. All of them had an unhappy childhood in common. All are convinced of the need of both a father and a mother to raise a child. I may be wrong, but it’s my belief that most people intend to be good parents. They don’t set out to make their children unhappy. As the days on the calendar set aside to honor parents are quickly approaching, I feel compelled to share my story. If people are willing to break the silence with their painful memories, how much more should I be willing to share my joyous ones? They are a memorial to my parents, and can serve as an inspiration and model to others who are struggling to raise children, whom they hope will someday say, “I was a happy child!”
Dear Editor,
Besides the sunny warm weather that accompanies spring and summer, two occasions make these seasons special for me. They are Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. I heard, recently, about a little boy who is struggling with Mother’s Day this year. It will be the first time he has had to spend this day without his recently departed mom. Hearing about his grief was a reminder of how blessed I am to still have my own mom to celebrate. I have a friend whose mother passed a few years ago. This holiday also continues to be hard for her.
Many children have to endure other painful scenarios. Take, for instance, three foster children I know who are four years of age or under. They all consistently verbalize their desire to see their parents. I wonder how their little minds will process the festivities associated with Mother’s Day. I am also acquainted with a sibling group whose mom left their dad for their dad’s sister-in-law. Will they continue, this year on Mother’s Day, to recognize their former aunt as Aunt Jane, or will they buy gifts for two moms?
The pain caused by the death of a mother can’t be helped, but choices play into the other aforementioned scenarios. I am extremely grateful for the choices that my parents made because they affected me. Their choices made me a happy child! Maybe that’s why I anticipate Mother’s and Father’s Day. These days are special opportunities to honor my parents.
Before I go any further, let me set the record straight. My happiness as a child was not a result of having an abundance of things. I often wore second-hand clothes. We rarely experienced the luxury of eating out at restaurants. And, we usually drove vehicles that were several years old; lucky for us Dad could keep almost any thing running and make it look good on top of that.
No, happiness was not about things, and it wasn’t about having a perfect family. My happiness resulted from being loved immensely, feeling security in Mom’s and Dad’s clearly defined roles, and having a faith in God instilled in me through consistent attendance at church and through my parents’ example.
So what did this brand of happiness look like? On a typical school day, I would get up and get dressed. Mom would prepare breakfast for my siblings and myself. Dad had already left for work at the factory by this time. In the afternoon, when I got off the bus and began walking up the driveway, I would often see clothes hanging on the clothesline, waving in the breeze. When I walked into the clean house, I was greeted by the most wonderful smells. Mama almost had supper cooked by 3:30 because Daddy liked it served early, and Daddy was the head of the house. When Dad got home he would go into the kitchen where Mama was cooking and give her a hug. He would sit down at the dining table and he and Mom would talk about what went on in their day. Then we would all gather at the table, and someone (usually Daddy) would say the Blessing over the food. My brother and sister and I had the opportunity to share our day with our parents and to listen to their grown-up talk. After dinner my sister or I would do dishes, depending on whose turn it was.
On the weekends my handy-man Dad filled his days mowing the lawn, working in the garden, repairing things that were broken etc. When Mom wasn’t doing her routine chores, she spent her time canning vegetables, sewing, upholstering our furniture, and a plethora of other domestic tasks.
I recently read an article called “Breaking the Silence” It shared the stories of five individuals who filed amicus briefs when the Supreme Court was deciding a case that highly impacted families. All of them had an unhappy childhood in common. All are convinced of the need of both a father and a mother to raise a child. I may be wrong, but it’s my belief that most people intend to be good parents. They don’t set out to make their children unhappy. As the days on the calendar set aside to honor parents are quickly approaching, I feel compelled to share my story. If people are willing to break the silence with their painful memories, how much more should I be willing to share my joyous ones? They are a memorial to my parents, and can serve as an inspiration and model to others who are struggling to raise children, whom they hope will someday say, “I was a happy child!”
