Mother's Day

My Mother, The Golfer

Growing up, when the weather was nice, my mother wasn’t there, she was out on the golf course.  It was just a fact of life in our growing up, as were the myriad of trophies that covered the shelves in our library.  Mom was not only a golfer, but a damn good one.  In her prime, she was the club woman’s champion. It saddened her that none of her three daughters ever took up the game.  You see, her mother was also a champion golfer and mom wanted it to go through the generations.  I didn’t like the game, didn’t see the point in doing something that you struggled to do well.  All of the conversations, I ever heard revolved around how poorly the game had gone that day, how much time one spent in the rough, whether one three putted, or shanked it into the woods. But my mother adored the game, she took every opportunity participated in every tournament offered to her.  And on weekends in the summer she and my father were on the golf course.  That’s where they were the day, I jumped into the pool backwards and skinned my chin open by missing the edge and was taken to the emergency room by my “uncle” Morrie, who watched my debacle.  That’s where they were when…   My sisters have their own stories; I think that is why not one of the three of us ever wanted to play.  It was where our mother was whenever we wanted her, or felt we needed her. 

I don’t want you to think she was neglectful; she left us in the very capable hands of our housekeeper, Rosezella. whom we all called Rosie.  Rosie was always there, she did everything that a mother should do, had the milk and cookies waiting for us when we got home from school, wiped our tears and our skinned knees and made sure we got to school on time and into bed at a decent hour. 

Mom is now ninety three and just last year, she gave up playing golf.  She had had health problems for nearly a year, before we found the magic doctor who restored her to the kind of health she had only dreamed of.  But, in that year, she had lost strength in her arms, and her body had lost some of its muscle memory.  But, once she regained some strength, thanks to her trainer and her water exercises, she eagerly returned to the golf course and her golfing buddies.  But, her game was not what she wished it to be.  Three years, prior, she had cut back from 18 holes to 9, and now she was ready to play again. 

When we went to Florida this past winter, we remarked that she had no golf games on her calendar, so we asked about it.  Her response was “I gave up golf.”  “Why?” we asked.

Her prompt answer was “My long game has gone to shit, and it is no fun anymore.”  I suggested that if she were to go out to the driving range, she might reestablish those skills.  She looked at me as if I were suggesting that she take up brain surgery, “I don’t do that!” ended the conversation.

I sent this piece to my mother for her comment, before publishing it on my blog, and she said she liked it, but thought it made her sound like a not very good mother.  I have been thinking a lot about that, since receiving her comment.  I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but told the truth as I saw it.  There were lots of things going through my head that I could say to her as a way to apologize.  The first I thought was “You did the best you knew how” I also thought, if one were to ask my children they would say that I wasn’t very attentive mother either.  Mothers in my day and hers were not like mothers today. When I was growing up, I frequently heard the phrase “Children are to be seen and not heard.”  At the other end of the spectrum, mothers today, hover, we call them helicopter mothers, and they are involved in every little detail in their children’s lives.  Are their children better off than I was, better off than my children?   I don’t think so.  I went back to college when my daughter was eleven and my son nine years old, my children hated it, they hated the extra responsibilities, they hated that I was so busy doing my homework, that I didn’t have time to work on theirs and they hated that I didn’t have time to be a den mother or girl scout leader.  But, they got good grades; they grew up into responsible adults who have become wonderful parents with high achieving well rounded children.  My daughter called me, while she was still in her twenties, to thank me, thank me for being the kind of mother that I was, because she realized that her contemporaries were less capable of taking care of themselves than she was.  I took that as an apology for all the garbage she had handed me as a teen.  I tell the story today, when I encounter those helicopter moms, to suggest that they are doing their children a disservice.   At a certain point, all children leave home, and we, as parents, have the job of making sure that they can live as independent responsible adults. 

So, Mom, here is my Mother’s Day present for you.  You gave me just the kind of parenting that I needed to grow up into who I am today.  I think that you are proud of me.  I love you, and am proud to be your daughter.  I brag about you all the time, and people are really jealous of me not only that I have you in my life still, but that I have a mother like you.