To All The Mother's in My Life...

I'm reposting an article I wrote several years ago for the Independent Tribune for Mother's Day 2004...

Janet Martin used to live down the street from my family when I was growing up. On many days, you would find the neighborhood kids jumping on the trampoline in her yard, or eating cookies and dried apples that she had made for us. She also made the best persimmon pudding I’ve ever eaten, with persimmons that fell from trees in her yard.

She always had a hug and smile and my memories of time spent with her are still vivid in my mind.

She’s not the only one that had an influence on me, though.
Ruth Dysart taught me origami at Sunday School. I think it was fourth or fifth grade, and I still remember how to do it.

Louise Settlemeyer showed me how to use a library, and introduced me to “Encyclopedia Brown,” one of my favorite book characters.
Linda Brown bakes fresh bread for me often, and seems to appear every time I need encouragement. At work, we call her “Momma Brown,” because she takes care of so many of us.

Jill Roach dried my hair when I tried to “fix” it for the school picture by sticking my scalp under the faucet and wetting my entire head.
Barbara Brumpton, my mother-in-law, treats me as if I was her own son, with a full share of love and advice.

Diana Keck led our children’s choir, Juanita Carter shared her shell collection with me, and I still depend on a high school teacher, Bess Oxendine, who helps to refine some of my more ambitious ramblings from time to time.

It’s hard to imagine my life being as full and rich as it is without the input I’ve had over the years from the many formidable women in my life. They are too numerous to name them all, but they’ve always been there, strong and dependable, when I needed them the most. With Mother’s Day here this weekend, it occurred to me that one can never have too many mothers.

My own mother, Terry Fisher, has been an inspiration of influence and guidance, especially now that I’m a teacher. When I was young, there were many opportunities for me to learn the right way to do things, and she made sure that I always knew that everything had a basis in love and caring.

Yes, I built a “campfire” in the woods beside our house, almost causing a large forest fire. Yes, I convinced my brother to jump out the window and run away. Yes, I tried to bake cookies when my parents were out of the house. (Unsuccessfully, I might add.) However, anytime my behavior needed to be redirected, or anytime I needed support, she was there.

Many people have good ones, but my grandmothers are exceptional. Some of my happiest memories as a child come from staying with my mother’s mother, Janet McDaniel. On Friday nights, my brother, sister, or I would get to sleep over, and in the mornings we would always have peanut butter toast and Life cereal.
On weekends, we would go and visit her mother, or my grandfather’s parents out in the country, and in the summers we would go to Williamsburg, VA, or Orlando, FL. She still makes fun of me singing “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” in the backseat of the car on various road trips.

My father’s mother, Marguerite Fisher, has had the dubious distinction of not only being my grandmother, but also my roommate. I lived with her for several years after college, and we had a good time. Growing up, she was always baking this or that, and luckily for me, that didn’t change when I lived with her. We also share similar tastes in books, and have rich discussions about them.

So, to all the mothers in my life, I just want to say “thanks.” Thank you for influencing and molding, thank you for various gifts – material and emotional, and thank you for just being in my life. I would not be where I am without you, and I wish you the Happiest of Mother’s Days.