My guess is that you have been expecting me to write about my parents. So, we might as well get it done and over with.
Parents seem to come either wonderful or destructive. Growing up I didn’t think much of mine. For shame, I would have swapped them for several of my friends’ parents. They were countrified, having grown up on farms. Daddy was from Blythewood, and Mother was from Winnsboro, which she considered, by far, the much better place.
It was later that I realized how wonderful, smart, loving, and competent they were. I now know how well they did with what they had to work with. I don’t mean to insinuate my brother, Ernest, and I were poor material! Times were hard, with never much extra money. Even young, I remember being saddened to see Daddy re-roof our house on his hot July vacation.
They started out, as many couples at the time, living with family. What? You mean no privacy, sharing a bathroom? Well, sharing an outhouse, if you must know.
Daddy was a carpenter and could build, repair, and make anything. Ernest and I were wild to have a tree house, and we knew he could make one, but we got no support.
I think there was a secret conspiracy between our parents to keep us on the ground. He did build us a heavy-duty double see saw, adjustable jumping stanchions and even an exercise bar … a hit in the neighborhood.
His main gift to us was just to be steady. You were to do well what you were expected to do, without drama. I don’t remember any lectures on right and wrong or punishment. Maybe a few licks to Brother because you know how boys are. I never wanted to disappoint Daddy in any way.
He loved music, baseball, playing cards with us, and to laugh and hear a good story. He always washed his face and hands and combed his hair before coming to the dinner table.
He died when I had just turned 21, so I never got to do anything nice for him. He would have loved television, sport shirts, and trips to the beach. He did not get to see how I turned out. Or maybe he did and has been watching over me.
Now, Mother was a little more lively and outgoing. She always had a plan in the works to make something better. She bought new furniture and silverware by paying a dollar a week. Now, this is true. She wanted one of those new gas cooking stoves instead of the old smelly kerosene one we had.
No agreement. When Daddy came home for lunch, she would put a wet cloth on the hot eye to make it smell and steam just as he walked in the door. After a couple weeks of this she got her desired new enamel Tappan stove with a built-in oven.
She was a natural psychologist. Ernest loved to climb to the very top of the big sycamore tree in our backyard. One day he was up at the top. She called him to come down. He didn’t, knowing Mother had no real control from the ground. So, without saying more, she brought out a tablecloth for our little tea party table, cookies, and a pitcher of lemonade. Without a word, down came Brother.
Mother could make a tasty meal out of little, especially if you liked grits and gravy. She always had vegetables which we did not discuss, just ate. She found a way to always have fruit, and she felt you could not keep house without lemons. Her own sweet tooth kept us in desserts. She learned that honey was a good protection against dementia, so she took Royal Jelly every day for years. This is just now being recognized, and it seemed to work for her 98 years.
Mother was an endless source of stories from growing up in a big family. I guess they were true. She was helpful and generous and was never too busy to keep up with the people she loved. She would have worn out a cellphone!
One ritual that I remember … at least once a month Mother and Daddy would sit down together and plan out paying the bills. There were no checkbooks, just cash. Daddy would give Mother the cash and she would take the bus and go to town and pay the mortgage, the light bill, the water bill, and whatever else was due.
That night Daddy would always ask, “What did they say?” After the first time of not knowing what to say besides, “Next,” she was prepared.
“Oh, they said thank you, you are such good pay. On time every month!” she would say. A little imagination and everyone was happy.
I hate to brag but I was fortunate and grateful. Brother turned out very well – a strong, good man, made good decisions, and with his wonderful childhood sweetheart, raised a good family.
I think it is significant that our parents shared a deep, quiet love and were always kind to each other.
That was a gift to me and my brother that I never appreciated until I was older.
I am grateful for that gift.
Jeanette Smith, 95, a Blythewood resident, has been active in the community’s civic affairs for over 50 years.