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By Herbert Pitts
Guest Columnist
Willie Shireman lives in the Limestone Nursing Home in Athens; I’m her oldest son.
When Mother broke up housekeeping, my siblings asked me what I wanted out of Mother’s belongings. “All I want is Mother’s table” was my response.
I’ll explain here.
Mother was the best cook ever. When I left home at age 17 and moved into a college dorm, I weighed 165; one year later I weighed 135 and had stopped growing.
The whole family ate at Mother’s table after grace. There were no harsh words spoken; only peace, harmony and love. We ate three sumptuous, large meals each day and there was always an abundance of leftovers, which never went to waste.
When us kids got off the school bus, we made a bee line to Mother’s kitchen. Same thing happened when we got home from a night event like church.
At a time, we had no electricity; Mother built the fire and cooked on a wood stove. She insisted that everyone remain in bed until breakfast was ready. I could hear Mother in the kitchen and wanted to help. After supper, we all went to bed except Mother. I could hear Mother in the kitchen cleaning dishes, pots and pans, etc.
Mother’s kitchen was always very clean. Once we rode some distance in a mule-drawn wagon to visit some folks. The custom back then was to just drop in unannounced and stay all day — that included dinner. About an hour into the visit, Mother got Daddy aside and said, “We ain’t stayin’ fer dinner; that woman’s kitchen is filthy.” So we left soon.
In addition to Mother’s household work, she worked in the field like a man. I’ve seen Mother pick more than 350 pounds of cotton in a day many times. Mother gave birth to six children — all at home except the youngest. She had no rest time before the birth and very little after.
Daddy died in 1962 and Mother was left to raise the four kids still at home — the youngest was five. Mother was the strongest woman I’ve ever seen.
Mother would have made a great army general. She was born in 1919 (World War I was going on). She expected strict obedience ; we all knew the rules. If we got out of line, Mother either sat us down and gave us a good, long talking or gave us a much-deserved whoopin’. I much preferred the whoopin’.
I remember after such a whoopin’, Mother would hug me, sometimes crying, and say, “Son, that hurt me worse than it did you — I love you very much, son.” If one of us got grouchy or down in the dumps, Mother would give us a big, warm dose of castor oil. What a difference in attitude it made.
Mother was and is a very devout Christian lady. I doubt Mother has ever sinned. Mother was and is my best friend ever in life. While I was growing up, Mother was my closest confidant and advisor. She admonished me constantly, “Son, get you a good education and you can get out of here” (I have earned B.S. and M.S. degrees).
It seems unfair that a worldly person such as I should go on living while such a saintly soul lies near death. I wish God would let me take Mother’s place and that she could live out my remaining years. The world would be a much better place.
Herbert Pitts lives in Maryville, Tenn.
