Lucky to have a mom who's prayed me through hard times

I’ve frequently told folks that I raised my mother. I’m not totally sure she appreciates me saying that, but I love her and it’s just tough if she doesn’t like it.

I am the oldest of three siblings and I was born while she was in her teen years. So by the time I was 10 and becoming more responsible, she was in her mid-20s. Couple those facts with everyone telling me I was born an old man, and there you have the recipe.

I mostly liked working side-by-side with my mother, whether it was in the early days on the farm or later chasing equipment around the countryside with my dad’s custom harvesting and manure spreading businesses. I’m sure I complained and tried to duck it as any teen would do but once we were involved in a job it made me feel good and responsible that I was doing the same work she was doing for the family.

She helped me and my other siblings out on our paper routes for three years while I was doing it and at least two more while my brother and sister threw papers. She got us up early Sunday mornings and helped us roll newspapers. If the weather was bad she loaded us into the car and took us on our route. She made sure we were staying up with our collections and used those routes to teach us how to save, how to collect off people and manage our money.

If I had a penny for every ball game she showed up for and sat on hard bleachers while her son pretty much sucked at the game I would have money to take the whole family out to Red Lobster this Mother’s Day with enough left over to buy a paper route bicycle and a new baseball glove.

I’ve got to say that having your mother as your bus driver or your lunchroom lady is not every kid’s dream. I lived through it though and there were good things about it. She didn’t usually make us ride all the way out with her on the route nor finish it with her in the afternoon, but that was an option if we didn’t do what she told us to do while she drove. In the lunchroom it was handy because sometimes we got leftovers of the stuff we liked. Later when she worked at the snack bar we could sometimes get her to pay if we didn’t have money.

As we’ve gotten older we go to each other’s doctor’s appointments together and talk without the need for a radio. In stores or lines our bodies both seem to have about the same amount of stamina. We both used up our backs working long ago.

Finally, to back up my claim that I raised her, I’ve officially been adopted into her weekly class reunion dinner meeting. I fit right in with all those old codgers.

I’m so fortunate to have my mother around. I still call on her to help me with stuff and she knows how to do some things better than I do. I know she’s prayed me through lots of hard times in my life and that’s the biggest reason I love my mom.

Karl Terry writes for Clovis Media Inc. Contact him at:

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