ONTINUATION
April 23,20§8
Different cont. from pg. 5
feisty in her old age." I
say that Mom has finally
reached that point in her
life where she is comfort
able in her own skin and
comfortable speaking her
mind. Once, a sales clerk
asked my mother how to
pronounce our last name,
Byrd. Mom responded
without hesitating and
without even cracking a
smile, "Gopher, B-Y-R-D,
gopher." The stunned
salesclerk gaped speech
lessly at her until she
explained that she was
only kidding. Her lat
est thing is to send my
friends and me routine
text messages that say
things like "Girl, I am
getting my text on,"
and "I signed you up on
Match.com; meet Guido
at 2:00 on Friday." My
mother has a flair for
the dramatic, and she
is a constant source of
amusement. She once
responded to a com
plaint that one of my
friends made by say
ing, "Why, when I was a
boy we didn't even have
Internet." To this day she
will use the phrase "Why,
when I was a boy..."
much to the dismay and
alarm of our acquain
tances.
My mother has not
only a unique sense of
humor but also that
rare ability to laugh at
herself when she makes
mistakes. When I was
in the second grade, my
class took a field trip to
the planetarium. When
my mother pulled the
permission slip out
of my backpack, she
immediately phoned
my bewildered teacher
and informed her that
I would not be going
because I have "lots of
allergies" and "wouldn't
be interested in all of
those plants anyway."
When my second grade
teacher kindly informed
her that the planetarium
was not, in fact, a place
filled with plants but
was instead a museum
that brought the planets
to life for students, she
hung up the phone, burst
out laughing, and imme
diately shared the story
with the rest of our fam
ily. We have never let her
forget it, but Mom does
not really mind.
My mother is a very
different sort of Byrd.
Byrd women in the
past were taught to be
refined, poised and deli
cate southern belles. The
day my mama became a
Byrd she blew that right
out of the water. The
woman who thought Pet
Ice Cream was dessert
for dogs is the very same
woman who taught me.
the importance of family,
optimism and laughter.
She may be outlandish
and outspoken at times,
but she is also funny and
refreshingly authentic.
She may not fit the mold,
but that is okay with me.
I have always enjoyed
having a mother who is
one of a kind.
Mother cont. from pg. 5
same look but certainly
not as perfected as my
mother's.
In some ways, my
mother was a bit uncon
ventional for the time.
On any given summer
afternoon, when other
mothers were bak
ing cookies, it was not
uncommon to see my
mother playing with
my siblings and me in
the yard. She taught us
to play baseball; I still
bat left-handed. As she
seldom struck out, we
often fought over who
would be on her team.
Boy, could she smack
that ball! Of the numer
ous baseball games we
played, I remember only
one broken window, and
it was my mother who
broke it. We all laughed,
including my mom. My
mother was very com
fortable laughing at her
self.
Several of my moth
er's more notorious traits
were her sense of fairness
and her brutal honesty,
both of which embar
rassed me on more than
one occasion in my child
hood. She never minded
waiting in a line, but if
people stepped in front
of her she did not hesi
tate to tell them in a very
matter-of-fact manner
that they had bumped
the line and needed to
return to their place
behind her. It was a fair
ness issue with her, but
as a child I would be so
embarrassed. My mother
was not at all pretentious.
Routinely at the check
out counter in the gro
cery store, before ATM
cards when people paid
in cash, she would look
at me and say, "I hope I
have enough money." I
would just die a thou
sand deaths. I remember
several occasions when I
had to return items to the
shelf. If I acted embar
rassed, she would tell
me not to be so proud.
For this reason I eventu
ally conquered the art of
persuasion, and I cormed
my brother into taking
my place on weekly gro
cery trips. Although my
mother seldom cursed,
on occasion you might
hear her mutter one of
her two favorite curse
words—"dammit" or
"jackass." As children we
thought these little slips
were hilarious, mostly
because she didn't think
we heard her.
As time went on,
I became more aware
of how reluctant my
mother was to speak
of her youth. Getting
information out of her
was like trying to pry
open a rusty lid on a
can. Whether it was my
constant pestering of her
or whether she finally
gave herself permission
to talk about her life, I
will never really know.
When I was eighteen.
we sat across from each
other at that same gray
Formica and aluminum
kitchen table in our
assigned seats, and she
told me many things.
She explained that as
a child, no one in her
home spoke English. She
went off to first grade
not understanding one
word of the language.
At the young age of six,
my mother knew what
it was like to be looked
down on, to be subjected
to ethnic slurs, and to be
spit upon. She would be
the one to teach her par
ents and younger siblings
to speak English. Even
though she was a won
derful student, she left
high school after tenth
grade and went to work
in order to help with
family finances. I was
shocked to leam that she
had lost three of her sib
lings during her youth. I
could not believe she had
never told me. Listening
to my mother answer
my never-ending ques
tions, I soon realized
that outside the safety
of her home, she became
American, while within
her home she was still
Italian. It was at that
same kitchen table where
I watched her face closely
as a child that I got to
know my mother in a
new and different way. I
understood more about
her that day than I ever
imagined. I loved sitting
at that kitchen table.
Eight years later, look
ing more tired than I had
ever seen my mother,
we had another chat,
but this one was not like
the carefree chats we
had when I was a child.
With a hint of a tear in
her eye and a stem look
on her face, she told me
that we needed to enjoy
the days God had given
her. There would be
time enough to mourn
afterwards. On that
April day I learned that
my mother's strength all
these years came from
her strong faith. Four
months later she died in
peace. 1 said goodbye
to my mother and my
best friend, and then I
mourned.
In our short life
together, we had more
than some people have in
a lifetime. I pray for her
strength every day. In
my eyes she will always
be the perfect mother and
the greatest influence in
my life. She taught me to
love unconditionally, to
embrace my faith, to be
honest to laugh as much
as possible and to value
the day I am in.
Survive cont. from pg. 6
years, but you will have
some extra college years
if having fun becomes
your only focus. If you
know you have a test the
next morning that you
haven't started study
ing for and all of your
friends are going down
town, make the right
decision and sacrifice
one night of fun to study.
Weekends are the perfect
time to go out and enjoy
yourself, but the night
before a final exam defi
nitely is not.
Surviving your fresh
man year of college
involves learning to
balance your priorities,
being responsible and
trying to be organized.
Having all documenta
tion finalized and work
ing out details with your
future roommate will
help get your year off to
a good start. Surviving
your freshman year will
come more naturally if
you make it a habit to
go to class, to study, and
have fun at the appropri
ate times. A student's
freshman year of college
is one of the most memo
rable times of her life,
and these steps will give
some guidance on how to
survive this chaotic year.