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Secretkeeper Posted 6.02.2013

I have been thinking about my mom this week.  She would have turned 90 today.  She passed away several years ago, and I’m sure she’s well settled in heaven by now.  Probably the most unique contribution to our family life was the legend she created which surrounds me today – and confounded my children when they were young.  For you see, if you ask my mom, if I never did anything wrong as a child she would always say, “Never.”  And she was serious.  According to her, I was easy to raise and a pure delight (well, yes, I’m overstating the legend a bit to make a point).

 

Now, with some history as a parent of my own, I do know that could not possibly have been true.  In fact, my personal memories do include a few paragraphs of difficulty and trial that I must have brought into her life.  I was not perfect, but I was usually compliant and not rebellious as a teen.

 

But what got me chuckling this week was the frustration of my kids with grandma because they could never get out of her any juicy stories about me. I am certainly not going to enlighten them.  They are in everyone’s story, but my mom loved me and chose to overlook the bad and focus only on the good.  I was safe with her.  But that’s about the only place I’m safe….and now she’s gone.

 

Let me be honest.  In the last two weeks I have spilled at least three full glasses of liquid, and came close to at least one other (praise God for lids on cups!).  What a klutz.  Lemonade flew all over the kitchen floor, mixed in with shattered glass – of course it couldn’t have been my fault, it wasn’t my glass of lemonade.  And I made a lake on the table at a restaurant.  How embarrassing.  The other incidents I have blotted out of my memory.  Thankfully.

 

But I blot them out because I love myself and don’t want those constant memories hounding me.  Either that or I just forget the bad stuff – because there is so much of it.  Anyway, I do remember cleaning up my fair share of glasses of milk spilled as a child.  Too many to count.  But mom would never divulge those stories.  I was perfect, remember?

 

So as I quietly celebrate her this week, I continue to be grateful for a mom who was always my defender and supporter and secret keeper.  Of course, it didn’t hurt that during her last decade of life, she probably honestly couldn’t remember any of the bad stuff. So the legend could grow. In the days when the stories may have been coaxed out of her, she couldn’t tell them.  Whew (at least from my perspective).  And, yes, you can ask my kids about my childhood from grandma’s perspective.  You’ll hear the legend of my perfection.   No one believed her for some reason.  But we all can learn to overlook faults and relish the good which remains.

 

So happy birthday, mom.  The secrets of my youth remain ours!

 


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