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One day not long ago while browsing a flea market disguised as an antique store, my eyes fell upon a stack of used books. I normally wouldn’t stop to glance at paperbacks. They’re just not at all what I’m interested in. (I like the old Victorian books, more for their covers than anything, I guess …beautifully bound and edged in gold.) But on that particular day, the title of this dog-eared paperback caught my attention. I didn’t buy it, so I have no idea what its contents consist of, but the title was certainly intriguing… “Never Stick Your Tongue Out at Mama…and Other Life Transforming Revelations.”

I had to laugh… not just because it was a cleverly-crafted title…but because it instantly transported me back in time. I was about seven years old. Aunt Mildred had come for a visit. She was round and jolly and she made my mother laugh. We really didn’t get out-of-town visitors all that often, so I knew this was special. Mom and her younger sister sat at the old kitchen table with its white paint chipped in a hundred places and rubbed bare along the edges. They joked and reminisced while they alternated peeling potatoes and sipping coffee. Us kids, of course, clamored around. “Go outside and play” was usually the phrase I wanted most to hear, but not now. There was attention to be gotten and showing off to do. After all, how can a kid ride a tricycle or make a mud pie with no one there to watch?

It was unseasonably warm for a late spring day and the sun was beating down. It was just plain hot. As I recall, my little plaid dress was covered with dirt and my knees were black. My outfit was not-so-tastefully accessorized by “grandma beads” and a bracelet of mosquito bites. The Illinois humidity had done its evil work on my curly hair. It hung in a thousand separate rings, and as my grandpa used to tease, my head was “plum hairy”.

I cupped my hands around my face and peered into the kitchen through the screen door. There they sat…paying no attention to us at all, or so it seemed. Their bare feet shuffled on the checkerboard tile as they worked and talked and laughed.

The screen door banged and snapped. We were in. We were out. We needed Kool-Aid. We needed to use the bathroom. We needed to get a different toy. We needed to tattle. There was a steady stream of ready reasons. Most of all, we wanted their undivided attention. But instead, they granted us only an abbreviated stay, and then we were once again banished to the backyard. Time and again we tried and time and again our efforts were thwarted.

After a while, I decided I would try a frontal assault. I opened the screen door and started in, but a rude horsefly darted in ahead of me and zigzagged his way into the kitchen. “For Pete’s sake”, mom began, “Will you quit fannin’ the door? You’re lettin’ the house full of flies.” (“Who’s Pete?”, I wondered.) “I need a drink”, I explained. “You just got one!” she countered. “And I need to go to the bathroom.” (Ah, the magic word.) “Okay. Go. And then you march yourself right back outside.”

I skipped merrily through the house, having successfully breached security. I started toward the bathroom, feigning compliance, but then detoured to the bedroom where the toys were. The cool linoleum felt wonderful to my hot bare feet. I goofed around, fiddled with dolls, eavesdropped, and finally heard the phrase that I never quite understood, “Janice Lorraine…do you think I was born yesterday?” I wasn’t sure what it meant, but it sounded serious, so I figured I’d better hustle.

I headed back into the kitchen and stood off to the side, trying to just blend in with the woodwork. I was awaiting my chance to jump in and appeal the “outdoor ruling”. Mom spotted me out of the corner of her eye and said, “Okay, go back outside and play.” “Aw, do I hafta?”, I whined. “Yes, you hafta,” she was quick to respond. Aunt Mildred grinned and lifted one eyebrow just like I had seen my grandmother do. I knew what that meant. She was somewhat sympathetic to my cause. “Well, then can you and Aunt Mildred come out? I want you to watch me ride.” Mom explained that they were busy cooking dinner and that they would watch me later. With that, she turned and without missing a beat they picked up their conversation where they left off.

I stood there for a moment with my tiny brain cells spinning. What could I do to convince her? So I stuck out my bottom lip and began to whine and stomped my foot. I had seen it work for other kids. Mom kept right on talking. She didn’t even look my direction. So I cranked up the volume. This time she turned to me and said, “Do you want me to give you something to whine about? Go on back outside.” Then she again turned away and directed her attention to Aunt Mildred and the growing pile of potatoes.

I don’t really remember my thought processes after that, but while her head was turned and before I knew it I was standing there with my eyes shut tightly and my tongue stuck out at my mother. The next thing I remember is hearing Aunt Mildred say, “Ooooh”, in an Andy Griffith kind of drawl. When I opened my eyes, there was mom’s face right in mine -- nose to nose.

The back of my neck grew hot and I swallowed hard. I knew I was done for and I knew I deserved it. This was a “green switch” kind of offense. I could already feel the calves of my legs stinging and she hadn’t even gotten out of her chair. But for some reason, to my surprise and great relief, she merely looked over her cat-eye glasses and said, “I think that’s enough. Don’t you? Now, do what I told you.”

I backed away, astonished, and headed for the back door. I had just done the unthinkable and she didn’t punish me. “Maybe she’s just waiting for Aunt Mildred to leave, and then I’m gonna get it”, I thought. But I never did. She let it go…. and that night she tucked me into bed with a Bible story and a kiss.

Sound familiar? In that one afternoon my mom gave me an object lesson in mercy. I saw it firsthand. I had asserted myself against her. I had used deceit. I had disobeyed and disrespected her. I had even openly mocked her. I was deserving of punishment….I knew it, and she knew it….but on that day she chose to forgive me and treat me as though it had never happened. It was kind of a “go and sin no more” experience. I never forgot it, and I never tried it again.

I could tell story after story about my Godly mother and the lessons I learned just watching her. I’m sure you have your own stories, and I hope you take a little time this Mother’s Day to share them. I, for one, would love to hear them.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Janice

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