Walking in the Valley A weekly column for those who live and walk in Silicon Valley by Barbara Dahlgren

I Remember Mama Column for the weeks of May 1-15, 2005

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One of my favorite old movies is I Remember Mama, based on the stage play by the same name and the book, Mama’s Bank Account, written by Kathryn Forbes in the 1940s. It’s a true account of a Norwegian family living in the San Francisco area in the early 1900s. Filled with warmth and humor, its popularity even spawned a TV show in the 50s called Mama (definitely not to be confused with Mama’s Family which aired in the 80s) that ran for 8 years. The appeal of I Remember Mama was always family and especially “Mama” who many times is the glue that holds a family together.

As we grow up, there are so many things we forget about our mothers. We tend to see them as they are instead of how they were. As this year draws closer to Mother’s Day I’ve been reflecting on my mother and the lessons I learned from her.

Yes…..I remember Mama.

I remember her wisdom: Imbued with tons of what we called horse sense in the Midwest, she was a cross between Dr. Laura and Solomon. “There are always three sides to every story: yours, theirs, and what really happened,” she’d say. Her theory was many times we don’t intend to shade the truth but we do see everything from our perspective, which can be skewed.

I remember her service: She lived by the motto of doing unto others as you would have them do unto you. If any friend, relative, or neighbor needed help, mom was there. She brought food to the hungry, nursed the sick, and visited the lonely.

I remember her insight: She’d say, “Life is not fair so deal with it.” It’s not something an idealistic child wants to hear but I learned at a young age, it isn’t always the most qualified, talented, or deserving person who ends up with the job, position, or first prize.

I remember her beauty: It’s true that in her younger days, many a stranger stopped mom to ask if she was a model, but what really made her beautiful was how she genuinely cared for others and her giving heart. Even at Christmas time, everyone got a gift, even the boy who delivered the newspaper. It may have only been a pencil box because we didn’t have much, but whatever we had, mom was glad to share.

I remember her honesty: “Don’t say anything behind anyone’s back you wouldn’t say to their face,” she’d say. These are words she lived by. I’m not implying she only said nice things about people but whatever she said, she was willing to stand by it.

I remember her humility: If she felt she was wrong she would apologize, even to me…just a kid.

I remember her fearlessness: When I was 4 or 5 we lived in a brownstone “rooms for rent” building in St. Louis. The woman who lived upstairs had a young boy about my age. She would stay out until all hours, leaving her child alone, unattended. Once she left him there ill. In those days, there were no agencies to call in such situations and the police couldn’t do anything because it wasn’t illegal. Mom went upstairs and looked after him. She also let others know she’d like to give this gal a piece of her mind, among other things. The next day, my dad, mom, and I were headed out. I’m not sure where we were going but we were all dressed up. I know this because mom had a hat on. Hats were very fashionable in those days.

We were standing in the hallway when Miss Out All Night came shimmying down the stairs. “I hear you’re looking for me,” she said.

Mom said, “Well, yes I am.”

It was obvious the lady was looking for a fight. Mom tried to talk her out of it but she wouldn’t listen, so mom took off her hat, handed it and her purse to dad to hold while she proceeded to have a little hand to hand combat. I could tell the woman was still conscious as she lay there on the floor. Mom dusted herself off, straighten her hair slightly, put her hat back on, took her purse from dad and off we went for the day. When we returned, the lady and her son had moved.

I remember her hard work: Believe it or not, it took both of my parents working to keep us in the poverty we had grown accustomed to. I was a “latch key kid” before they even had the term. Neither of my folks had much of a formal education so they took whatever jobs they could get. Sometimes mom would hold down a full time job and take in ironing on the side. Mom never complained and I never went without home cooked meals or the necessities in life.

I remember her humor: Mom was a cross between Erma Bombeck and Dave Berry, witty and funny. Once at K-Mart mom accidentally bumped her shopping cart into another woman’s. Mom jokingly said, “Sorry, you almost need a driver’s license to operate one of these things.” The woman was indignant as she replied, “Well, I don’t!” Then the woman turned her cart quickly around and ran into a post. Mom just passed her up, smiled, and replied, “See what I mean!”

I remember her encouragement: “You can do it,” she’d say. “You can be whatever you want to be. You can do whatever you want to do.” It may not seem like a big thing now, but mom always wanted a high school diploma. I remember with pride when she got it. She was in her mid 30s.

I remember when she came to Christ: Mom wasn’t quite as feisty after she met the Lord. She never lost her wit, wisdom, or humor but she gained peace and deeper insight. When she looked at a flower, she saw the Creator. When she lived life, she saw purpose.

I remember her death: I was in my early 20s when mama died. She went to the doctor for what she thought was a kidney infection; she found out she had uterine cancer. Two weeks later she was gone. She was 48. It happened so fast and now that I’m older, I realize how young she was.

Pope Paul VI said, “Every mother is like Moses. She does not enter the Promised Land. She prepares a world she will not see.” These words ring true in my mother’s case. There is much of her family’s life she did not live to see.

Be sure to visit this page often to read the next edition of Walking in the Valley. You can write to the author at bdahlgren@wcgsouthbay.org.