I was a bad child. Terrible really. Quite possibly the worst.
I liked to hide. And I was good at it. Whether it was among the clothing racks at Gayfers or under a table at Morrison’s, I’d hide until people were frantic then pop out at them, gleeful.
I was stubborn. Even as a toddler, I refused to wear frilly, ruffly dresses. I preferred plain, tailored clothes like a nice sailor dress with a big starched collar and a little tie. And my pig-headedness didn’t just end in the closet.
I was sassy. Especially as a teenager. Lord, If I had a nickel for every time I heard “You’d better not talk back to me!” I’d be a gazillionaire.
I was naughty. When I was little bitty, after Granny and Sarah would give me a bath, I’d slip away and run off to jump up and down in the middle of the bed, nekkid, with both of them trying to catch me to get clothes on me. Yes, it took two grown women to get me dressed.
And I was prone to fits of temper. And not just a little hissy fit here or there. I mean real honest-to-God. lying-down-on-the-floor-kicking-and-screaming tantrums.
No amount of blonde hair and blue eyes could disguise the demon child that was me.
I don’t think Mama knew what she was getting into when she had me, and it’s probably a good thing. I mean it’s purely a miracle my little brother even exists after I came along. What in the world were my parents thinking? Probably that they just had to get a better child the second time around.
But here’s the thing — even though I was defiant, mischievous, ill-tempered, and ornery, my mama, by some great miracle of maternity, always loved me. Now she may not have liked me very much at times, but I never once doubted for a second that she loved me. Not once.
I could always put my head on her lap, and she’d stroke my hair. Every bedtime brought a goodnight kiss. Every skinned knee and hurt feeling was nursed well again. She read me stories and poems, we shopped for prom dresses and makeup, we took trips.
I finally managed to grow out of most of my wicked ways — at least the hiding and the jumping on the bed while nekkid. The hissy fits come less often, and I channel my sass into humor … most of the time. For the record, though, I still won’t wear frilly, ruffly dresses so I guess the stubbornness has hung on.
There must be something about motherhood that blinds you to anything but the best in your child. I remember Daddy telling me once when I was in my teens, after I’d been particularly hateful to Mama, that I should always be nice to her because she’d be the only person who’d love me when no one else would. And he was right.
That’s why today, on this Mother’s Day, this bad child celebrates her good Mama. She is now, and always has been, my staunchest advocate, my biggest fan, and my strongest support. And having survived raising me to adulthood, she’s probably the only person on this earth more hard-headed than me. And that’s saying something!
Happy Mother’s Day, Mama! I love you!
(If you’d like to read more essays like this, get my book, They Call Me Orange Juice.Order your copy today!)
Good Stuff Aud!
My son Drew was the same way about hiding. He would go to the clothing racks at Wal-Mart that were arranged in a circle with a hollow core. He would only burst out and say “surprise!” after he noticed the anger (or sometimes terror) in my voice. When we’d be at Lowes, he’s find the hardest place to fit into like in the center of the racks of doors and windows.
I can’t wait to read your book!
Those circle racks are the best for hiding. I have to resist the urge a lot of times to still crawl in there. Let me me know what you think of the book!
I love your blog. I look each day to see if you have posted a new one. I purchased your book last Tuesday and it is priceless. I remember some of the people and places so well. I lived in Citronelle until the early fifties across the street from Mrs. Audrey and Mr. Freddie. Your Baw, Mr Freddie to me took us so many places. On hot summer nights he would walk your Mom, myself and my sister to the bus station for ice cream cones. There was a pear tree on Prine Road by your family’s driveway we would go there to pick pears when they were ripe. We would also go to swim in Puppy Creek off Lott Road. We would play behind Mrs. Audrey’s house where all the beautiful flowers were blooming. Marie would hold your Moms hand so she could skate down the hill with us. Your book brought back so many happy memories I have of your family. Thank you for that and keep the blogs coming and the second book.
Connie, thank you very much for your kind words and sharing your memories with me! I’ll be sure to relay them to Mama too!