Aunt Norie’s sewing room
I remember when this little jewel came out. I never did find out who penned it.
The author just signed it as Anonymous.
“Thank God for mean moms”
I had the meanest mother in the world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had Cokes or candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different from other kids, too.
My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. She had to know who our friends were and what we were doing. She insisted if we said we’d be gone an hour that we were gone an hour or less. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us — not once but each time we did as we pleased. Can you imagine someone actually hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now can you begin to see just how mean she was?
The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by 10 each night and up early the next morning. We couldn’t sleep ’til noon like our friends. My mother actually had the nerve to break the child labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.
She always insisted on us telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us —and it nearly did.
By the time we were teenagers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. While my friends were dating at the mature ages of 12 and 13, my old-fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 16, and that was only to go to school functions three or four times a year.
My mother was a complete failure as a mother. None of us has ever been arrested, divorced or addicted to alcohol. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You’re right, our mean mother. Look at all of the things we missed. We never took up smoking, got involved in stealing, took part in any riot, drove recklessly, or any of the million and one things our friends did. She forced us to grow up with a faith in God, a decent education and a desire to work.
Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean. Because you see, I thank God, he gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.
Thank God for all of your blessings. Hugs now.
— Aunt Norie, P.O. Box 265, Tonganoxie 66086; firstname.lastname@example.org.