A Mother's Love

Yesterday would have been my Mother's 84th birthday. I often said that if there had been an Oscar Award for Moms, she would have won hands down.

When I was a youngster I thought everyone had a Mother like mine. Loving, warm, kind and a woman who would protect her young no differently than a mother bear protects its cubs. It wasn't until I was much older that I realized that everyone did not have a Mother like mine.

I remember planning to spend a Friday night with my girlfriend Colette, during my freshman year of high school. She was an only child and her parents owned a ritzy home not far from where I lived. I was extremely impressed and a bit envious. My folks certainly didn't have a new, up-to-date house like that.

Colette's Mother had agreed to fix waffles with strawberries and whipped cream for dinner, something I was not used to eating. My parents were steak, potatoes and salad people. Nothing as frivolous as strawberry waffles and whipping cream was ever served as "dinner" at our house, or breakfast for that matter. Suddenly these people seemed so much more "up town" than my folks did.

I can't remember exactly how it all started, but there was a confrontation between Colette and her father - a really big one. He started screaming at her and everything escalated so quickly that I'm not sure what all happened. But I do remember her father grabbing a belt and chasing her through that beautiful house and beating her with the belt buckle until her mouth and face was bleeding. This wasn't just a spanking. This was an all out assault that I was witnessing and I was horrified!

All the while her Mother stood by saying nothing. In fact, it was evident to me that this type of behavior went on quite often by her Mothers nonchalant attitude.

I was so afraid that I called my Mom who sent my Dad to pick me up immediately. I was never so thankful to be back at home, safe and sound.

What stands out most when I remember that incident was Colette's Mother and her lack of concern for her daughter. I believe that Colette's Dad could have beaten her to death and her Mother wouldn't have said a word.

On the other hand my Mother did protect me. I was never allowed to go back to that ritzy new home, and I have never liked waffles with strawberries and whipped cream since then.