Mom

Where would I be without my Mom? Nowhere.

Who would have inspired me, lit a fire under me, encouraged me, put Band-aids on all my boo boos, exposed me to culture and opportunities, clothing on my back and shoes on my feet? I'm fairly certain that without my Mom I would have grown-up wearing only burlap sacks.

Burlap sacks would have been OK with me. But looking back, Mom just made everything that much better.

The first time a good friend of mine met my Mom he said later, "That is the toughest woman I have ever met."

My Mom is one tough lady. This is born and raised in Detroit, Michigan proper here, plopped into the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch country. What a mix!

When my Mom threatened my brother and sister and I with punishment, we believed it.

My Mom could threaten to sell us to sheep herders in the deserts of Africa where we would live off dry grass and work 32-hour days in the hot sun...and we would believe her.

But time tells all truths. In all truthfulness, my Mom is a big softy. She's a loving, caring, compassionate woman. I'm very lucky to call her Mom.

If we did get grounded to our room for a week. She'd break down after a couple hours and come back and talk to us before sending us back outside to play. We never expected this to happen. We were convinced we were on our way to the deserts of Africa. But she knew how to be tough enough to maintain discipline, while still loving us all dearly.

I played midget football when I was very young. I was pretty quick for a big guy, and had a good arm. Ultimately I was hoping to play quarterback.

Football went sour for me fast though. A couple of fathers had made their presence known at every practice, and they assured their sons positions they coveted, including the quarterback position.

I'll always remember going through some throwing and receiving drills. I lofted one to our best and fastest receiver streaking down the side line. It dropped right into his hands without breaking stride. He came back and said to me with disbelief on his face, "Why don't you play quarterback?"

"I don't know. I want to," I said.

I was lost in the politics of midget football (I can only imagine what it is like today!). I was a kid without a place. Suddenly the soccer pitch next door started to look pretty good.

My Mom could tell I wasn't happy. Mom's just have some kind of innate skill, some kind of e.s.p. They know everything.

I told her how it was going, and how it wasn't going.

She said, "Wait here," and slammed the door of the car as she made a bee-line towards one parent.

Now this guy was a big guy, a former football player himself, and quite a good one. I watched my Mom from the front passenger seat of the car. I couldn't hear a thing but I could tell that she was the one doing all the talking. She drilled him for a good five minutes. His jaw was wide open. She was giving him a verbal body slam. She left him stunned and speechless.

Back in the car and now driving away. I didn't say a word. I was proud of her. She stuck up for me, for our family. Thanks Mom. (smile)

I started to play soccer after that.