My Mother’s Day

On Mothers’ Day I remember a wee girl who grew up during tough times and wanted more for her kids than they could likely imagine as youngsters.

[Edith J., between a very tall friend and R. Palmer, Norwich; circa 1934]

The following piece of prose was written three years ago for Edith Jane Harrison (born May 10, 1923; passed away Sunday morning, Nov. 26, 2000), the wee girl who became my mother.

thin times in a small town

where did she find

the money, that young mother

of mine, for the brand new

red CCM bicycle for

my birthday?

my brother and three sisters

never thought or felt

our family was poor.

but we knew -

if we wanted something -

we had better be prepared

to work for it.

God, what a good lesson

to learn as a young boy.

My dad had me try

one or two used bikes one day.

Tim Body’s didn’t fit me well

and it was hard to pedal.

I would have worked hard

for something better.

But, on my birthday,

after opening a few presents,

my mother told me

I wasn’t done yet

and said I should look

behind a tall bookcase

that hid the front door

from where I stood.

I did look,

and quite unexpectedly,

fell in love with

my new red bike.

***

I lovingly tip my hat to a girl whose father died young, who never had her own new red bike.

.