Momisms

         They are called “momisms”, those ridiculous sayings that our mothers repeated over and over during our childhoods.  In my house, Mom harped on the subjects of discipline, cleanliness, frugality, and following the crowd.  If all else failed, she might throw in a little guilt for good measure.

     Unlike today, 1950’s discipline relied heavily on corporal punishment.  Sometimes the threat of a good wallop was enough.  If Mom couldn’t wait until Dad got home, she warned, “I’ll give you to the count of three,” or maybe, “Don’t make me get up.”  We giggled and told Mom that she should count to one hundred, better yet, one thousand.  As she came after us, she declared we would laugh on the other side of our faces and, as she meted out the spanking, she pronounced that she would give us something to cry about.  We found it hard to believe, but she swore we would thank her someday.

     As very young children, our mother promoted good personal hygiene.  Often she lamented that we looked like something the cat dragged in.  From time to time we resembled the wreck of the Hesperus.  At our grimiest, we were dirty enough to grow potatoes.  At other times we were just a little ski-wiffed. 
          By adolescence, we accepted that a little soap and water wouldn’t kill us, and we showered regularly.  Now Mom took offense to our surroundings.  “Your room looks like a mad man’s pocket,” she complained.  “Do you think socks pick themselves up?  I’m not your maid.”  Mom was not a lot of things – she was not made of money, she was not buying snacks for the entire neighborhood, and furthermore, she was not heating and air conditioning the outdoors. 

     Mom was also sparing when it came to allowing us freedom.  If we said everybody else was doing something, she dared us to name five.  “So what if they are,” she said.  “If your classmates jumped off the Empire State Building, would you do it too?”  Of course, being the oldest, I should have known better than to ask for certain things.  If I didn’t understand now, I would get it later, “when I was sixty four”, she said.

     I don’t know if my siblings absorbed as much of Mom’s wit and wisdom as I did, but I suspect that none of us leave the house unless we are wearing clean underwear.  I consider myself an independent thinker, a skill I most likely developed during those times I was banished to my room to ponder my misdeeds.  I’ll be the first to tell you that life isn't easy or fair, and you don't always get what you want.  However, if you stand up straight, do your best, and always wear fresh drawers, you're just as good as the rich and popular kids.  Mom was right.  I understand it all now, now that I am approaching sixty four.
     Happy Mother's Day, Mom.