Sermons

Summary: Is it worth it? It was for Hanna.

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Mother’s Day

1 Samuel 1 May 14, 2006

Intro:

This story was written by a woman named Bobbie Pingaro, in 1967:

I had the meanest mother in the whole wide world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. And you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids’ also. But at least I wasn’t alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.

My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You’d think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we’d be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less -- not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy’s pants. Can you imagine someone actually hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was.

We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends? The worst is yet to come.

We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn’t sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept, my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking of mean things to do to us.

She always insisted upon 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. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I was really there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I’d had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old-fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.

Through the years, things didn’t improve a bit. We could not lie in bed "sick", like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends’ report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother, being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks.


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