Yesterday was my mother's birthday. We had a get-together at their house on Friday to commemorate. She's quite an incredible woman, that mother 'o' mine. I wrote about her on Mother's Day, but I thought it would be good to talk a little more about my Mom as we remember the day of her birth. So two stories for ya [in retrospect, these stories seem to be more about me than my mom, but she's an important player, nonetheless].
The last time I was spanked was 1989. I was thirteen years old, a Bridgetown Junior High School eager beaver [our stupid mascot]. It was a weeknight and I was frustrated with a conversation I was having with my mother. At the peak of the dialogue, in pure anger, I yelled something to the effect of, "whatever Margaret!" Yes, Margaret is her first name; I called my mother by her given name. Unfortunately, during this outburst, I neglected to realize that my father had just arrived home and was ascending the basement stairs, listening to our entire exchange. By the time he made it upstairs he was visibly upset [to say the least] and came after me. I didn't get a good jump so he caught me and sorta knocked me to the ground in the hallway. Before I knew it, my father's knee was in his back and he was taking his belt off to show me his style of justice. As he wailed on my rear-end I, in a fit of adolescent cockiness, began to laugh at him. Not the brightest move, because this caused him to strike me all the harder.
It was at this point that my mother felt a sense of empathy towards my cause and said to my dad, "Stop it, Ken! You'll kill him." This plea by my concerned maternal parent ended the corporal punishment and I was dismissed to my room in quite a lot of pain. If not for my mother, my father would have continued treating me like a human pinata and perhaps candy would have come forth from . . . somewhere. Thanks Mom, for saving my life.
Additional P.C. Note: Hopefully this little story didn't disturb you folks out there who are against spanking. My father isn't a monster or anything; he was just rearing me as he thought best. And all these years later, I'm thankful he got through to me. I have [yet] to commit a felony and have led a [somewhat] productive, normal life. Trust me, I needed those spankings to help make me the person I am today. So save your phone call to Oprah and keep reading.
OK, now a second story that's a tad more heart-felt. Mom likes to sing. She has a beautiful voice, and always sang harmonies to every song growing up. Unbeknownst to me she sang the alto part so, as I taught myself to emulate her harmony, I was singing a woman's part. To this day, I find myself slipping from a tenor harmony into an alto. As I write this I'm laughing at myself because I've always been paranoid of someone accusing me of being a girl for singing women's harmony, but it's not like writing an entire paragraph on singing harmony is the most manly thing in the world. Interesting.
Anyway, I've always been complimented for singing harmony in songs while leading worship. Not a lot of people know how to do that. And I probably wouldn't know how if it wasn't for my mother. Thanks Mom, for teaching me how to sing. Perhaps I can duplicate your efforts to the world and provide them with some carbonated beverage to keep them happy.
Thanks mom, for always being there for me and teaching me so many things. And thanks for still being as wonderful today as you've ever been.
So happy birthday, Margar . . . um, I mean, Mom! You're the best!
The last time I was spanked was 1989. I was thirteen years old, a Bridgetown Junior High School eager beaver [our stupid mascot]. It was a weeknight and I was frustrated with a conversation I was having with my mother. At the peak of the dialogue, in pure anger, I yelled something to the effect of, "whatever Margaret!" Yes, Margaret is her first name; I called my mother by her given name. Unfortunately, during this outburst, I neglected to realize that my father had just arrived home and was ascending the basement stairs, listening to our entire exchange. By the time he made it upstairs he was visibly upset [to say the least] and came after me. I didn't get a good jump so he caught me and sorta knocked me to the ground in the hallway. Before I knew it, my father's knee was in his back and he was taking his belt off to show me his style of justice. As he wailed on my rear-end I, in a fit of adolescent cockiness, began to laugh at him. Not the brightest move, because this caused him to strike me all the harder.
It was at this point that my mother felt a sense of empathy towards my cause and said to my dad, "Stop it, Ken! You'll kill him." This plea by my concerned maternal parent ended the corporal punishment and I was dismissed to my room in quite a lot of pain. If not for my mother, my father would have continued treating me like a human pinata and perhaps candy would have come forth from . . . somewhere. Thanks Mom, for saving my life.
Additional P.C. Note: Hopefully this little story didn't disturb you folks out there who are against spanking. My father isn't a monster or anything; he was just rearing me as he thought best. And all these years later, I'm thankful he got through to me. I have [yet] to commit a felony and have led a [somewhat] productive, normal life. Trust me, I needed those spankings to help make me the person I am today. So save your phone call to Oprah and keep reading.
OK, now a second story that's a tad more heart-felt. Mom likes to sing. She has a beautiful voice, and always sang harmonies to every song growing up. Unbeknownst to me she sang the alto part so, as I taught myself to emulate her harmony, I was singing a woman's part. To this day, I find myself slipping from a tenor harmony into an alto. As I write this I'm laughing at myself because I've always been paranoid of someone accusing me of being a girl for singing women's harmony, but it's not like writing an entire paragraph on singing harmony is the most manly thing in the world. Interesting.
Anyway, I've always been complimented for singing harmony in songs while leading worship. Not a lot of people know how to do that. And I probably wouldn't know how if it wasn't for my mother. Thanks Mom, for teaching me how to sing. Perhaps I can duplicate your efforts to the world and provide them with some carbonated beverage to keep them happy.
Thanks mom, for always being there for me and teaching me so many things. And thanks for still being as wonderful today as you've ever been.
So happy birthday, Margar . . . um, I mean, Mom! You're the best!