LUCY BURDETTE: Last winter I convinced my hub John to take Hallie's class on narrative writing while she was in Key West. He was dubious, but he loved it! His essay about his mother turned out so well that I asked him if I could share it with you.
The Day My Mother Chose the Frying Pan by John Brady
Mom, stirring her ersatz version of goulash, paused. In our Pennsylvania kitchen my older brother Bob was recounting what he had heard was going on behind Russia’s Iron Curtain: “Those kids have to report their parents to the police if they say something bad about the government.” Mom interrupted her cooking and looked at us: “They could put me in this frying pan before I turned in any of you.”
Dorothy Lindsay Brady - 1913-2015
The image of our mother squeezed into a pan, naked, seared into our young brains. We were stunned, and proud. Wow, she would do anything to protect us.
Both our mom and our dad were children of the Depression, with the emotional scars to prove it. Whereas Dad was a champion kidder, our mom’s personality had square corners. There wasn’t always a middle ground.
She always wanted the best for us. I think she only stopped begging me to “take a math class” after I got my first job out of graduate school. But if someone outside the family said something bad about one of her chicks, look out!
Mom was a natural teacher. “Down the ramp and you’ll be OK,” she coaxed, pushing the little blue bike we all learned on. Then, there I was, flying down Main Street on a two-wheeler!
We normally walked the mile to St. Titus School. But if it was raining, she stuffed the seven of us into our Pontiac station wagon. With her I had to be careful what I wished for. If I pretended to be sick to stay home from school, that might mean a day of licking S & H Green Stamps and pasting them into books.
Mom’s job was more mundane, and a lot harder than Dad’s. After my seventh sibling was born, she got terribly sick. A flotilla of casseroles and Jell-O concoctions arrived at our door. We were all scared; I thought she had polio. After that, Mom quit smoking those Pall Malls, and she got some household help.
Mom grew up on a large ranch in Oklahoma. She was a great horsewoman. She drove competently and fearlessly, so much more confident than most women of her time. She was also a natural athlete - good at tennis, and an amazing putter in golf. She had a hole-in-one in her 80s and came close to shooting her age.
After WWII she came back East to my father’s hometown with many important life skills. When confronted with a live chicken that was wanted on the dinner table, she promptly wrung its neck, which quickly impressed her new father-in-law.
There was only one time I remember seeing her cry. We were at her mother’s house in Oklahoma. Walking into the kitchen, I found her sobbing against her sister Tess’s shoulder. Today, I think she was overwhelmed with her responsibilities, and hated being so far away from her mother and family. At the time, it was frightening to see.
Mom tried to make time for all of us. When I was in the first grade, I complained that all the other kids’ mothers met them as they came out of school. Shortly thereafter, there she was, pushing Lewis or Lisa in a baby carriage up to the steps.
Dorothy had always wanted to have fun. She hated the idea of people just standing around at parties, so hers were memorable affairs that always featured a game, like charades. The passing of years softened her square corners, too. She became less serious… the sense of humor that had always been there emerged… she could laugh at herself as well as at others.
Her grandchildren loved her. No wonder, she knew them from their beginning. When a new grandchild was born, mom packed up her bags and arrived to “get that baby on a schedule.” Was that helpful? Yes! When mom left after getting our first child, Molly all set up, Jana wept.
One of the hardiest laughs I ever heard from her came shortly after she had a stroke at age 102. She had just heard that Donald Trump was running for President. Mom, a lifelong Democrat - she thought the idea preposterous!
Shortly thereafter, she went into a coma. But ever-protective, she wasn’t going anywhere until all of her chicks had arrived. Only then would she set out on her journey to the next world.
If you were telling a story about your mother, where would you start?
What a beautiful tribute to your Mom, John . . . thank you for sharing her with us . . . .
ReplyDeleteIf I were telling a story about my Mom, I would start with how she always baked two cakes on our birthday . . . Jean and I each got to pick the kind of cake and frosting we wanted. Mom said that just because we were twins that didn't mean we should not be able to have our favorite cakes on our special day . . . .
That's a great memory Joan!
DeleteOh!Joan! If I had been a twin and not an only, I just know my mother would have baked two cakes. As she was the end of March baby, her birthday often was in Holy Week or on Easter itself. Hers was a strict Episcopalian home…so no cake, no big celebration. My birthday and my Dad’s birthday just six days apart often bookended the same week. But we always had our own birthday dinner and our own cake. Elisabeth
DeleteMoms are pretty wonderful, Elisabeth . . . .
DeleteI would start a story about my mom with a haircut. “Are you sure?”, she would say, “once I cut it, we can’t put it back.” She was a trained cosmetologist, not just some hack trying to pinch pennies. She knew what she was doing.
ReplyDeleteI would love to hear where that story went, and whether her comment echoed in other parts of your life!
DeleteThat essay is full of love and admiration, John. Thanks for sharing it with us.
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely essay. Kudos to John for trying something new.
ReplyDeleteI might start an essay about my mom with us lying on our backs in the Sierras and her teaching us about the constellations. Or the times I couldn't sleep and crept back into the living room with my book to read next to her as she read, hoping if I was quiet she wouldn't notice. (She told me as an adult that of course she noticed, but figured it didn't hurt to let me read a little longer.)
Wow, what great memories you all have! Hallie's class was terrific, helped me get a focus and tell the story better. She is a great teacher!
ReplyDeleteFrom Celia: Thank you so much John? I read a consise, colorful description of your Mom. I feel as if I now know your family, could sit, even start with questions in the middle. Your language is spare but all the more powerful for that. I think
ReplyDeleteI need Hallie too.
Joan E. Very time I read your mom baking two cakes I melt, thank you.
I wrote my mother the CEO and it's on Facebook if anyone wants a different perspective.
I enjoyed getting to know your mother, John. What a strong and loving person! Some of my best memories of my mother are of her reading to my sister and me.
ReplyDeleteJohn, your mom was way ahead of her time, and what a long, interesting life she led! Seven children, though. I am astonished at women who bear that many--and more--children. Then live to 102!
ReplyDeleteMy mom was, and is, a complicated person. But at 96 she still loves a good laugh, and still has a giggle that charms everyone. And she is indefatigable. I recently took her to the annual alumni luncheon for the Catholic girls' high school we both attended--my class was only there for the last year as freshmen; she graduated in 1948. They always seat us with our own or closely adjacent classmates, and my mom, as always, wondered, as she discovered she was again the only one from her class, "Where is everybody?"
Thank you for this lovely essay, John! As others have said, I really feel like I know your mother a little now. One thing that struck me was how much she had in common with my mother-in-law, also named Dorothy, who had eight children and died last year at age 96.
ReplyDeleteWhen I tell stories about my mother, I almost always start with her bravery. She was a tiny little thing with some nervous tics who could appear quite fragile, but at age 18, pregnant and alone, she got on a train in Louisiana to go live with the mother-in-law she had not yet met in Ohio to wait for my father to come home from WWII. I feel like that set the tone for the rest of her life.
Thanks for sharing this piece about your mom, John. We really get a sense of her and of your life growing up.
ReplyDeleteIf I were to write about my mom, I would probably focus on her independent spirit. Educated by Catholic nuns in high school and college, she decided she didn't believe in papal infallibility and found her way to the Episcopal church. An only child, she decided to be a children's librarian, so that she would always have children around. She got a job in England in 1950, and brought my dad with her when she came home. She annoyed her daughters over and over when she refused to budge on issues, but she knew her own mind.
Thanks to John (and Hallie) for making us write about our mothers.
ReplyDeleteMy mother was so very, very shy and timid – and never showed it. She came across as a woman of confidence, so loving of kids (not), and so kind and elegant. It was a front. Well except for the elegant bit.
What she wanted was peace (no people), an Agatha Christie book and a fried egg sandwich. None of the rest of the palaver.
So many relatives come to me and say, you are an odd one – always have been, and so much like your mother. I thank them, and know that in only one respect I am like her (we differed in most of our outlooks on life). She too was a great hostess for the lobster party. She one day confided to me, that if she did the work and the behind-the-scenes things, no one noticed that she was not talking with the guests. YEEESSSS! They never know that I do exactly the same thing. So, in one way, I guess I have inherited something from her. Still l am odd and definitely not elegant, though…
Margo, you are not "odd". You are unique and fascinating!
DeleteThanks for sharing your essay about your mother, John! My mother had eight children, so I can relate to her efforts to be there for each one of them. My mom was there for me in so many ways. She loved to read, but money was tight, so we didn't grow up with a houseful of books. But when those Scholastic Book fliers were handed out, she always managed to come up with a couple of dollars for me to purchase several books (50 cents! for a book!). And she would read every single one of the books, too, but only after her kids read them first.
ReplyDeleteI think John had some skills before class.
ReplyDeleteNorma
Aww...this is so wonderful. Poignant, and affectionate, and insightful. Aww.. What a wonderful way to start the day. My mom, whoa. One of her favorite sayings: "I'm not criticizing. I'm just...observing."
ReplyDeleteWhat a terrific essay and a wonderful tribute. I wish I knew why she was crying--not that mom's don't cry, but it just makes me curious. Your essay makes me wonder what my own children might write about me!
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely piece, John. Thanks for sharing it with us. With only a few paragraphs, you've made us feel like we know her. Hallie is a great teacher! I'm sure I couldn't write about my complicated mother so succinctly.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful bio of your mother, John. Now I want to take a class by Hallie! Alas, I'd have to travel pretty far away.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful essay. There are so many places to start with my mom. By instinct, maybe with her father telling her she'd never get into college - she earned three degrees. But I think he story starts earlier than that.
ReplyDeleteThis is the perfect portrait, John. And perfect tribute too!
ReplyDeleteThank you, John, for sharing this wonderful piece about your Mom. I really enjoyed it!
ReplyDeleteYou paint such a vivid picture of your mother, John. I particularly love the square edges description! What a remarkable woman and a touching tribute to a life well lived.
ReplyDeleteYes! The square edges really resonated with me, too.
DeleteThanks, that was a fun one!
DeleteThank you for sharing that with us us, John. Just lovely! Your essay as well as your mom!
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely tribute.
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely tribute to your mother in law, Lucy. John writes well. I have been thinking of taking Hallie's writing class. There are many wonderful stories to share about our mothers. My mom, grandmother, great grandmother and 2x great grandmother all love to cook. I feel blessed to have inherited that knack for baking and cooking.
ReplyDeleteJohn, I loved every word of this! potent memories, and a tribute to your mother. Wow. The image of her wringing that chicken's neck... Takin' care of business. That she was an athlete does not surprise me... was your dad athletic, too?
ReplyDeleteThanks Hallie. We always got a kick out of the chicken story. Both of my parents loved sports and encouraged that in us too - they met playing tennis, just like Roberta and I did.
DeleteForgot to mention how helpful your emphasis on the start or hook on the story has been. I am now trying to create an interesting ending that sets the theme in all of the chapters I have been writing. Makes things so much better. This is a lot of fun.
DeleteJohn, what an amazing life your mother lived! From a ranch in Oklahoma to a home in Pennsylvania, marshaling seven (SEVEN!) kids, and all the huge historical events she lived through. She sounds like my grandmother: tough as nails on the outside, all love on the inside. How blessed you all were to have had her for so many years.
ReplyDeleteGosh, thanks for all the kind words. The thing was fun to write, which I revised endlessly (and still am). I would wake up in the middle of the night and either fix something in my head, or another memory would come up I just had to include. It is wonderful to hear all of the stories about your mothers and grandmothers. I encourage you to write one about your own mother or father, I bet you will enjoy doing so.
ReplyDeleteWelcome to the life of a writer, John!
DeleteMom had five of us. I'd start her story with her childhood, moving around during the Depression while Grandpa looked for work. They moved all over Texas and eastern New Mexico. Mom loved her years in Roswell!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful story! Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteLoved all the stories of you all's mothers. My mom made my brother and me our favorite cakes for our birthdays. I was happy to eat the banana spice cake he liked, but Bob didn't like my coconut cake so Mom made him apple crisp. I contined to make it after she died until Bob died, too.
ReplyDeleteJohn, your mother was better than my dad. He bought a rabbit for dinner, thinking to break its neck as his father had. That rabbit CRIED! Dad finally killed it, but after that we bought our rabbits already killed!
John, your mother sounds like the very definition of indefatigable. A strength to be admired and a love for her children to be treasured. My mother was also one who loved her children with a never wavering ferocity. I learned how to love my own children from her example, not that it was ever anything but easy to love my children. She was an educator at heart, and even though I was born after she taught for 20 some years in elementary school, she stressed education and learning to her children. Well, I did know her as a teacher for one year, when she taught kindergarten in our home. Kindergarten was a private schooling then. Perhaps the greatest gift she gave me was my love of reading and acknowledging that sitting and reading was a worthwhile use of one's time. She was such a nice person and helped behind the scenes with my father's real estate business by writing ads for it. She never got the credit she deserved for doing so many different jobs in our family of six. She endured the heartache of losing a child, a baby of just under a year old, and was the best nurse I ever had when I was sick. Nobody takes better care of you than your mother when you're sick. She was an amazing cook, and if I ever had to choose a last meal (and it could actually happen) it would be her dressing balls with her gravy, turkey, corn pudding, frozen fruit salad, green beans with bacon grease, and her sweet, sweet tea.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the beautiful essay, John.
ReplyDelete