My mother died recently, at the age of (almost) 96. She was not your typical mother. When other mothers were baking cookies, cleaning the house, or planting roses, she was reading theology books, running a monthly luncheon for Christian ladies, or setting up a museum. If I was late getting home from school for some reason, she didn’t even notice, because she would be on the phone coordinating events. My best friend’s mother would be panicking and on the point of calling the police if she was late, but not my mother. As a result, I had a lot of freedom as a child, because my mother did not micromanage my activities.

Even though she was a stay-at-home mom in the 50s and 60s, she was a far cry from the stereotypical “housewife” type. She was extremely analytical, so much so that when I used to watch murder mysteries with her on Sunday evening, she would engage in a running commentary the entire time, dissecting the characters and pointing out any moral lapses or ambiguities. She analyzed everything from a Christian perspective and was always ready to engage others in heated debate. She could be quite difficult and critical at times, thanks to her analytical brain, which was usually in overdrive. 

She was not really into food (with the exception of chocolate), and I’m sure the last thing she wanted to do every day was prepare dinner for her family, but she did it almost every day for 30 years or so, until all four of us children grew up. Sometimes there might be an under-abundance of the main dish, as she was not a big eater herself and had a hard time estimating how much food growing boys (my two brothers) would eat, but none of us starved to death. For that I am thankful.

Even though my mother was not the nurturing, bedtime-story-reading or cookie-baking type, she taught me quite a few important things over the course of my lifetime. Three stories especially come to mind when I think of her, stories which illustrate her legacy in my life.

Swim Team 101: aka, How to Fail

My mother taught me how to fail. Learning how to fail is an important part of life, and something many people don’t really learn how to do. I was good at a lot of things – schoolwork and piano, for example – but I was really bad at one thing, and that was swimming.

When we were young, our family lived in a neighborhood that included a swimming pool, and we could go to the pool all summer and swim. The pool also offered a swim team. My father used to tell us, “If I am going to pay the dues for you all to use the pool, then you are going to take advantage of every opportunity it offers, and that includes the swim team.” So we all had to swim on the swim team every summer. 

I hated it. I was 9 years old when I started, and I was SOOO slow. In my first swim meet, they had to fish me out before I got to the end of the pool because I think I started to drown. Even when I could make it to the end, I was so slow that I did not just come in last – I was half a length of the pool behind everyone else. But after every single swim meet, after I came in last, I would go over to my parents, and they would say, “Good job, honey.” And I would say, “But I came in last!” And my mother would say, “But that’s all right; you have a beautiful stroke!” And then she would usually make a comment along the lines of if the ship is sinking, it doesn’t matter how fast you swim, just that you can swim (which I’m not entirely sure is true).

Over the years, I got a little faster, but I was never actually fast. But my mother didn’t care how fast I was; she was much more impressed with my “beautiful” stroke. And I learned that even in my failure, there was something that I was good at – my stroke! And that we can’t all be good at everything, but we can look around for something positive in the things we are not so good at. My mother taught me how to fail.

Bugs in the Cereal: aka, How to Be Frugal

My mother also taught me how to be frugal. My mother was always very frugal, probably at least in part because she grew up during the Depression era. She did a lot of grocery shopping at the A&P (an ancient grocery store – I don’t know if it exists any longer) because it was cheaper. That is where she bought our cereal. But the problem with the cereal from the A&P was that in the summer, it had bugs in it. Little black bugs. And because of our father’s insistence that we all had to swim on the swim team, we had to get ourselves up every morning to go to swim team practice, which started at 8:30. And for breakfast, we ate cereal from the A&P. We had learned that the little black bugs in the cereal would just rise to the top after we poured in the milk, so we just spooned them off the top, ate our cereal, got on our bikes, and rode off to the neighborhood pool for swim team practice. Didn’t give it a second thought.

One day, my best friend spent the night with me. In the morning, I, of course, had to go to swim team practice. (My friend’s father did not make her swim on the swim team, for some reason that I could not understand.) So at breakfast, I began to offer her some cereal choices. “Would you rather have Bug Bran, Bug Flakes, or Sugar Frosted Bugs?” I asked. And she responded sheepishly with, “I think I’ll go home for breakfast.” I remember thinking to myself, “What a wimp.” Because after all, as our dad used to say, “A few bugs never hurt anyone.” That’s because he grew up spending his summers in the country on a farm and was not afraid of bugs. 

My mother’s frugality extended beyond bugs in the cereal. She taught me to always look for value; for example, instead of paying full price for an item, she would wait until the same item was 40% to 50% off, or maybe even 75% off the last marked down price, before she bought it. I don’t think she ever bought anything that wasn’t on sale, but she always had beautiful clothes and a beautiful home and made sure we all had nice clothes. She believed in value. And I learned about value and frugality from her.

The Butler’s Pantry: aka, How to Think

The third story that illustrates my mother’s legacy in my life has to do with our butler’s pantry. You see, when I was in high school, we lived in a house that had a butler’s pantry. Now, mind you, we did not have a butler. After all, we had been eating cereal with bugs in it from the A&P. But we did have a butler’s pantry. And not only did we have a butler’s pantry, but we also had a butler’s buzzer under the dining room table. So if we sat at the table and pushed our foot down on the exact spot where the butler’s buzzer was, we could hear the buzzer go off inside the butler’s pantry. We loved doing that. Even though a butler certainly never made his appearance.

Anyway, inside the butler’s pantry were cabinets for dishes and glasses, so the butler could serve people more easily. But my mother used those cabinets for her collection of theology books. She had lots of books in there (along with her stash of chocolate candy). And she knew right where each one was. One time I came home from college and said, “Mom, I have a professor in my Christian doctrine class who doesn’t believe in Hell.” (This strange new doctrine was contrary to what I had been taught all my life.) My mother did not faint, panic, or even skip a beat. Her reaction was, “Oh, I have a book about that.” And she pulled it right off a shelf in the butler’s pantry and gave it to me. Another time, I reported that the same professor did not believe that God had a plan for anyone’s life, or even a plan at all! Again, my mother did not hesitate; she just responded, “Oh, I have a book that deals with that issue,” pulled it straight off the shelf, and handed it to me. She often encouraged me to read Christian thinkers whose books she had on her shelf in the butler’s pantry. Even though they were well over my head, I persisted and eventually benefited from expanding my thinking and vocabulary. 

Even though she was notoriously difficult at times to have a conversation with because she loved to turn everything into an argument, I could ask her any question about theology or the Christian faith and she did not judge or criticize me. I learned from my mother that it was OK to ask questions about my faith and that Christianity could stand up to rigorous questioning. Consequently, when other people were jumping ship and abandoning their Christian faith because they were told not to ask questions but rather just to “have faith,” I had learned to search for answers and not to give up easily when confronted with difficulties that challenged my faith. Instead, my own faith was strengthened, largely due to the way my mother handled my questions.

And that ability of my mother to think analytically and to investigate theological issues was probably the main reason that I learned to read critically, analyze information, and educate myself about my faith as well as about educational and other topics. Other than her Christian faith itself, one of the most important legacies my mother left me is that she taught me how to think. And for that, I will always be grateful. My mother’s Christian values as well as her love for education eventually led me to classical education with its emphasis on teaching children how to think and reason. 

Some other random things my mother taught me:

How to Make Mud-Pies: Yes, she actually bought me a recipe book for mud pies, and I followed it assiduously, making mud pies in the backyard with dirt and kitchen utensils. I loved that mud-pie book, and it led right into making actual desserts, as well as other real food!

How to Read: She taught me my phonics sounds with flashcards when I was four and then gave me Chippy Chipmunk’s Adventures to read as my first book. I think it was 3^rd grade level, and at the time, I thought it was so difficult, but I read it and have been reading ever since. She despised the Dick and Jane readers (that’s another story), hence Chippy Chipmunk’s Adventures. If anyone knows where a copy can be found, I would love to know.

How to Be Modest: My mother didn’t believe in girls wearing two-piece swimsuits because they were too close to bikinis, which she considered to be extremely immodest, so we wore one-piece swimsuits only. She also did not allow me to play with Barbie dolls; she thought they were too mature for little girls. I am grateful for her emphasis on modesty and tried to pass it on to my daughters.

The influence of a mother extends down through the generations. I am grateful for the influence my mother had on me as well as my children.