May '08, ASC: 3 generations of education graduate degrees |
If you’d asked me ten years ago, “What
are your mother’s day plans?” for today, I’d have assumed I’d be celebrating
this holiday with my family and own children. I do not have children, with the
exception of the many hundreds of children who have passed through my classroom
door over the course of the past five years. I often do quite a bit of
counseling with my students (from the young ones up to the high schoolers) and
I am grateful that I’ve been deemed worthy (by whatever powers that be) to give
advice and help my kids see a different point-of-view on the world. Little ones
(from teaching Elementary school classrooms) have called me “Mommy” instead of
Miss G from time to time, and many hugs with heads buried in my side and arms
wrapped around my waist included wistful, “I wish you were my mom”s. Many of my
high school kids have fussed at me for not having a baby yet, saying that I’d
be a “cool mom” and warning me that my “eggs were frying and I needed to have
kids soon.” (Yikes!)
Several of my high-schoolers have
been mothers or mothers-to-be and I’ve had a special bond with those girls,
encouraging and enabling them to get the education they deserve in order to be
the mom to their babies that their children deserve. I’ve felt humbled when
talking with teenagers (usually girls) and pointing out that their moms are
scared to lose their little girls—and that this transition point of high school
is a clear sign that they won’t have the same role to play with their daughters
as when they were younger—and hopefully saying words to these girls that will
help smooth out the oft-tangled relationships between teen girls and their moms.
So am I glad I’m not celebrating
Mother’s Day tomorrow with children who are “mine?” No, not really. I’m a
little jealous of moms and that relationship that they have as a sustainer of
life—it seems to me like a mystical, spiritual chance to be one with God…one
that I haven’t had the opportunity to take. Am I happy for the moms out there?
Of course. If not for moms out there, I’d not have had the chance to teach,
converse with, sing with, make art with, and learn from their children.
My mama came to my Beethoven concert in April |
My mom is a teacher—a product of the 1970’s era of Women’s Lib when she knew that she had the opportunity to go to college, but she felt that her only two career options were nurse or teacher. I worked really hard in college to NOT become a teacher, but to accidentally follow in her footsteps anyway. They’re definitely not bad footsteps to follow. She’s been a teacher who’s constantly reinvented herself: she taught Elementary school, then worked while she was pregnant to obtain a Master’s degree and Gifted certification; then after 17 years, she switched to teaching Middle School Language Arts and Science and earned her Specialist’s degree. After 13 years there, it was time for a change again, and she switched to Elementary gifted again—at schools with immigrant populations unlike the golf-course-homes one she’d left years before.
She’s made her mark, earning
Teacher of the Year for her county, helping countless kids earn Social Studies,
Writing, and art awards and taken dozens of field trips around the southeast
with kids. She started a monthly recognition luncheon for the best citizens in
each class—and it’s caught on so that other teachers help bring in deserts to brag about the
good kids. She lives her life as true to herself as she can—church-choir
singer, sci-fi fan, family caregiver, rescue-dog-mommy, pianist, baker, reader,
gardener, and Snoopy collector.
Some other moms in my life are my
grandmothers: my mom’s mom, Grandma Shirley Jane Pepperd Thomaston, and my dad’s
mom, Grandma Marilyn Faye Cerasoli Gauthier (see, French and Italian!). I was
at my Grandpa Bill’s 80th birthday celebration this weekend when his
sister-in-law (a woman I’ve not seen since I was a toddler), looked at me from
a table, sighed, and said, “I see Marilyn in your face.” It made me cry because
my mom’s always said that she sees my beautiful Grandma Marilyn’s eyebrows on
me—in addition to other features. My grandma Marilyn was stricken with a
neuromuscular disease most of my life—so I always knew her to be in her home,
surrounded by her books, beads, sewing, crocheting, music, television programs,
and Bible.
There were several summers as a
child when we spent a lot of time at their house west of Atlanta, and although
she didn’t have the strength to do much of the cooking, she perched on a stool
and gave me directions of what to do—to make Italian stuffed shells, salads,
desserts, and drinks. She had recipes, but she also cooked by smell and visual
presentation. Her dishes, “tablescapes,” and foods were beautiful to look at
and wonderful to taste. I would often
call her as I was driving some place and she would fuss for me multi-tasking,
but she would listen and sop up every story about my life that I had to tell
her. She was an incredible listener, philosopher, and activist. I remember
saying to my sister, that I can’t call Grandma Marilyn any more, but at least I
can still talk to her—I just have to wait a while for her answer. From the time
we were little, we’d give eskimo kisses and say “Bee’s Knees!” and so whenever
I hear that I think of her. I miss her
so much.
'08 Baccalaureate-- mom and grandma Jane love stuff like that. |
She traveled with me singing to
South Carolina, Chicago, and all over Europe. I lived with her for a time in
both high school and college and I thank the stars every day for the
opportunity to know her the way that I did—not just as a grandchild who cared
for her grandmother, but in a more one-on-one nurturing way. Grandma Jane didn’t
know a stranger and she loved to tell entertaining stories. She had one about
during World War II about rationing and that it was time for her to get her
allowance of shoes and the only mary janes available in her size were RED! The
ten year old Janie couldn’t have been more delighted with her luck to be the
only girl at her school to have red patent leather shoes. What luck, and what a
perspective on the direness of the times.
Luchsingers concert May 08. She was able to hear the Dec. concert from her new home. |
I got my chocolate brown eyes from
my Grandma Jane (okay, my dad has brown eyes too) and I’d like to think her
fighting spirit and love of seeing places of history all over the world. She and I shared
many a marvelous moment traipsing across Europe—and she never got tired of
people asking if I was her daughter, and she proudly explaining that I was her
granddaughter. A bus driver even commented (to our amusement), “Oh yes, I knew
you were related. You have the same nice legs. Sexy.” I learned a phrase from my
friend Amber’s mom when she said, “I ran into your grandma and she was telling
me about your trip. You know she thinks you hung the moon!” I cherish the
things my grandma Jane liked to say…”How often do you get to tour the Red Light
District of Amesterdam in the morning and hear your granddaughter singing a
Mozart Aria at a cathedral in Germany in the evening?” She lived for
soundbites!
These women and others have shown
me to live my truth and to stand for what is good, right, beautiful, and
musical in the world. Maybe I have one’s eyebrows, one’s legs, one’s brown eyes…but
their spirits and good energy are in my heart and soul. Happy Mother’s Day to
those ones who I have been so lucky to have the love of in my life.
Mother's Day Lunch 2012- Aunt Janet, Neil, Adrienne, Emily, Mom. We are generally an amiable bunch. |
1 comment:
This postsecret reminded me that I do that at Barnes and Noble-- I use my Grandma's phone number and name so that's what they call me when I get my discount. http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N3hnOo-8Z-8/UY6z2qd_IWI/AAAAAAAAYeM/UQLUbCVRIyY/s1600/onback.imisshereveryday.jpg
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