My mother died at the early age of 68, October 2, 1989.  She was a loving mother to three children: Richard, Ronald and Lisa, I, Richard, being the oldest.  As a youth she was an excellent student who won a tuition scholarship to U of I (IL) at a time when the country was in a deep depression and her parents couldn't afford for her to go to college.  She never forgot her love of French, and during my teens, she began to take college courses.  In time, she earned her B.A., and, about ten years before she died, she did obtain her Masters in French and enjoyed teaching a few years before her sudden death. 

To me she was the model of a loving mother who was conflicted as she was also a modern woman stuck in a Victorian world where females enjoyed limited freedom.  Mother at times rebelled, in limited and private ways.  She seemed to shut down, hiding in her books.

When I was a child, I loved her so much, I believed us to be connected in some special way, kinda like twins.  Very close. I have two early memories with her.  When I must have been like 6 to 8, Mother would take me to a shop that I remember selling antiques: we'd buy little bottles.  That is, Mother would help me find one.  To this day, I'll sometimes buy a 'cute' little bottle.

I was an explorer when I was a child and I often was exploring Olney when my mother thought I was in my bedroom or visiting my Grandmother Williams.  Other times she knew I was exploring, as I’d drop in on her wherever she was working.  And mother was always working.  When she worked in the record shop on Whittle, I’d visit.  She’d put me in a booth where I’d listen to records.  If she were working as a dispatcher for the police department, I’d go back and ‘try out’ the bed in a cell.  If she was working as a researcher for her old schoolmate, lawyer Bob Vaughn, I’d follow her to the courthouse and up into the stacks of abstracts.  I know I was not always welcome; should have been at home or with my grandmother.  I am sure Mother tried to correct me, but always in a positive way. 

Another early memory relates to a sandbox and the French phrase "Je ne sais pas."  Outside, near our backdoor was a large sandbox, maybe ten-feet by ten-feet.  It was super!  It had sides with built-in seats and a roof.  I loved playing out there, even in gentle rains.  I must have carried many toys out there.  So when I couldn't find a toy and would go to mom for help, asking where my toy was, she answered in French, "Je ne sais pas."  To my young ears, I heard "sandpile" and would run out to the sandbox -- where it usually was.  That French phrase for "I don't Know." was my first French sentence.  (Mrs. Griffin didn't appreciate that either. And told me not to use it during my first days my junior year in her French class.) We laughed about that years later. 

Mother loved to learn, loved to read, and loved to share with me.   With her as a model scholar who began to attend Vincennes University during the my senior high school year, I changed from a poor student in high school to one who not only did well in college, but also as a teacher.  She served me well.

When I think of her, I can visualize her crawled up on her sofa with a book.  If I wanted to talk to her, I walked to her and stood in front of her until she looked up and recognized me.  One never yelled to her from another room. Bellowing, "Hey Mom!" was unthinkable.  If I asked a short question and she either didn't know the answer or didn't want to talk, she answered in French.  By then, years after my sandbox days, I understood, "Je ne sais pas" meant "I don't know."  She didn't say, "Go Away," but I knew to give her privacy. If she wanted to talk, she was a wonderful conversationalist.  I remember that our best talks were about novels, especially the characters.  And I just remembered that was her favorite way to give me advice.  She'd recommend reading a key passage. 

During my teen years we didn't know the cause of my headaches.  But, when I'd get a terrible one, she was my first defense and best nurse.  Be you a teenage friend or one of my teachers, didn't matter.  She'd stand between us and speak to you with the diction of scholars and the tone of a Boss with the result that you usually left the scene quickly.  Yes, I loved her very much.

One other thing.  Not once, not ever, did she express disappointment at my very unacademic behavior in high school.  And I sure gave her much ammunition.  I know that she and Mrs. Griffin talked -- Mom having been one of her favorite students so many years ago -- she knew I was I was skipping my French class.  She knew I was going to flunk French.  Even so, she must have believed in me.  I remember her using the phrase, "finding myself."  I didn't understand then.  Years later, as a teacher, I understood.