My mother was no one special. She was intelligent with a keen inquisitive nature. She graduated from Franklin College with a degree in biology and took a job at Eli Lilly in the lab. She quit that job for the full time career of raising four children and a husband. I am not sure which of the two took more effort. She had a great sense of adventure and loved to travel to new places. She took a trip to Antarctica with a college friend when she was seventy years old. She was not witty or a great joke teller but she had a special knack for coming up with a funny, memorable comment at just the right time. My mother died five years ago and my friends and family still tell amusing stories about her. With every passing year, I realize just how adventurous, smart, funny and, well, special she was.
I include one memorable story here and hope to add others. I hope that friends and family will comment with other stories and memories.
Growing up we always had a sandbox in our backyard. It was a simple structure, a square of two-by-sixes set into the ground by my father. The start of each summer was marked by the arrival of a dump truck with a new load of sand. This was quickly followed by kids of all ages from all over our neighborhood. By the end of every summer the sand was flattened, having been kicked, thrown, eaten, rubbed onto heads and made into pies by the neighborhood. One summer weekend, we were playing in the sandbox. The adults were in the next yard relaxing in lawn chairs. Some of us began running and trying to clear the six foot span of the box. As one of the older kids, maybe seven or eight at the time, it was fairly easy for me. After several minutes of broad jumping, my mother got up from her lawn chair and joined the line of kids awaiting their turn to jump. I imagine someone mentioned that they used to be able to do that, my mother countered that she still could, someone expressed doubt that she could and game on! Did I mention that beer drinking was involved? Anyway, my mother's turn came and all activity stopped as kids and adults alike watched. She sprinted toward the sandbox, launched herself into the air, landed on both feet on the other side of the sandbox, lost her balance and was propelled forward hands outstretched as if sliding headfirst and skidded on our sidewalk. She got up, brushed herself off, looked at her scraped palms and declared "told you I could still do it". At that moment I was the proudest kid in the neighborhood.
I include one memorable story here and hope to add others. I hope that friends and family will comment with other stories and memories.
Growing up we always had a sandbox in our backyard. It was a simple structure, a square of two-by-sixes set into the ground by my father. The start of each summer was marked by the arrival of a dump truck with a new load of sand. This was quickly followed by kids of all ages from all over our neighborhood. By the end of every summer the sand was flattened, having been kicked, thrown, eaten, rubbed onto heads and made into pies by the neighborhood. One summer weekend, we were playing in the sandbox. The adults were in the next yard relaxing in lawn chairs. Some of us began running and trying to clear the six foot span of the box. As one of the older kids, maybe seven or eight at the time, it was fairly easy for me. After several minutes of broad jumping, my mother got up from her lawn chair and joined the line of kids awaiting their turn to jump. I imagine someone mentioned that they used to be able to do that, my mother countered that she still could, someone expressed doubt that she could and game on! Did I mention that beer drinking was involved? Anyway, my mother's turn came and all activity stopped as kids and adults alike watched. She sprinted toward the sandbox, launched herself into the air, landed on both feet on the other side of the sandbox, lost her balance and was propelled forward hands outstretched as if sliding headfirst and skidded on our sidewalk. She got up, brushed herself off, looked at her scraped palms and declared "told you I could still do it". At that moment I was the proudest kid in the neighborhood.
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