Happy Mother's Day

Two quick memories in honor of Mother’s Day.

First, I was probably five years old. We lived in Nashville and Mom was a single parent with two small children. My brother and I had been finger painting with her, and I remember she painted apple trees. I was so impressed because her trees really looked like apple trees.

Second, I was a year or so older and I’d burned my finger on the iron early one school morning. I needed to get off to school, and she promised me something special when I got home. I was expecting a toy or a cookie or something but instead she’d made me a “medal” out of colorful construction paper that proclaimed me a member of the Royal Order of the Iron. I loved that thing, and in fact I had it well into adulthood—until my house was broken into and my jewelry box, where I stored it, was stolen. I was as upset about losing that as I was about a lot of the jewelry I lost.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.