It's Just a Story

Just a Story

I’m a writer, and writer’s write... right? So what better gift could I give my Mother than to write a ‘tribute’ to her honor? So I began to put together a story that depicted my version of my Mother’s life ‘in-a-nut-shell’.

This Mother’s Day, several of my 9 siblings and their spouses and children, gathered at Mom’s house for a pot luck dinner. We all ate and laughed and Mom played one of her favorite songs on her CD player. We were supposed to be listening to the words, but selfishly, we continued talking right through it. Then she turned it off. I felt bad because I knew she was trying to share something special with us and we didn’t get it.

It was then my turn to share something special with her. I had written a little piece for my Mom hoping to bless her and make her feel special on this ‘her day’. My siblings have been very supportive of my new writing endeavors, so they encouraged me to read what I had pre-supposed to be a touching little tribute.

I started my story with gusto....

“She grew up with the same dreams most girls her age dreamed. She lived on a farm removed from the nearest town by at least twelve miles....

“What?” she interrupted, “Twelve miles! We were only about three miles from town. That is if you walked the way the crows fly...through the fields. You’d better change that.”

“Okay Mom, I’ll change it... it does sound better saying twelve miles, don’t you think?”

Everyone laughed and then after we got a few more details fine-tuned, I was given permission to continue on.

... “The early morning hours were ushered in by crowing roosters and bellowing herfords. Stumbling out of bed early to milk cows and collect fresh eggs....

“Well, we milked cows in the mornings, but you don’t collect eggs before night. They have to have time to make them, ya know.”

“Well, no, I didn’t know that Mom, but now I do, so I’ll change it. I thought the roosters woke up early, did some crowing and got the little hens a-layin." Again, after the laughter subsided, I continued on.

...”The second youngest of 10 siblings, Dorothy eagerly did her part to make the family farm a success. The boys worked the fields with their Pa and the girls faithfully learned their chores from Ma. They learned to keep a clean house, work the ground for vegetables, do laundry and the lighter farm chores left by the boys.

Life was good, the family worked well together. Soon, the older children grew up, married and moved away. Before long, only a few children were left to carry on the farming business.... then one day, Mother took sick...”

I could see the expression on her face change, so I quickly reassured her, “Not you Mom, I mean your Mother.”

... ”She wasn’t feeling well and when the Doctor spoke to her on the telephone....”

“Ha! That never happened! Mom interjected. “We didn’t have no telephone back then.”

That did it! I hadn’t even made it through the first three paragraphs and she had ripped apart everything I had written. Frustrated, I turned to her and gently grabbed her on her arm and said curtly... “MOM! This is JUST A STORY, okay? It doesn’t have to be accurate; it’s just a story!

“Well!” she chirped back at me, “I can’t have you writin a bunch’a lies! Ya better get your facts straight. And ya better not be puttin this in the newspapers either!”

With this, any ‘tender moments’ that I had originally envisioned, were lost forever in the gut-splitting guffaws that echoed around the dinner table and on into the adjoining room.

All I wanted to accomplish was to make her feel special and realize how much her life has meant to us all. She just acted like she didn’t get it.

That’s okay though... she’s going to be eighty-five this year and I think that’s the truth.