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Greg's Meats

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Bill's Bits

I usually don't write about articles from other publications, but this one is quite "quite down to earth," so I wanted to share it with you good reader's:


I was in fifth grade before I had my first pair of store-bought pants. They were jeans, with decorative loops of stitching on the back pockets. I'd begged and begged for them, because until then, my Mom sewed all my clothing. (I was the girl with the homemade pants of many colors.)

Sewing was--and is-- part of who my Mom is. It's so central to her psyche that my Dad, when they married, acknowledged that connection with a wedding gift of a pair of "Singer Scissors." They were all silver and he had them engraved with the saying: "A man without a woman is lke half a scissors."

As a child, I admired those shiny scissors. My Mom didn't store them away unused, like a precious token. They were hardworking scissors. They had their own place on the neatly organized shelves in my mother's sewing room, where they were always returned after use or biannual sharpenings. Until one day, they weren't returned. Because I lost them. I lost my mother's wedding scissors!

I was on the costume crew of my high school's drama club, and I'd grabbed the scissors to take to school when I was helping out on a production of "You Can't Take It With You," or perhaps it was "Grease." Whatever the play, those scissors disappeared into the bowels of the school's overstuffed costume room.

My mother was heartbroken. I knew she was. She steadfastly pursued those scissors, asking me to check and re-check the school. She wrote a letter to the drama teacher, pleading with her to keep an eye out for them. But through it all. she didn't aim any anger at me. Not once, perhaps she was wise enough to know it wouldn't do any good; she realized the grave error of my ways. Or perhaps accepting such injury from our children is just part of being a mom. Because the thing about kids (which I learned years later when I became a mother) is that they can wreck things, or bend them or forever deface them with a permanent marker. Destruction is in their nature.

I didn't know it then, but my my mother was teaching me a lesson about motherhood. She could have yelled. She could have punished me, she quietly used the loss as an opportunity to exemplify the unconditional nature of a mother's love, even when your children hurt you, Especially then.

After all, a child's heart is far more important than a pair of scissors. Even a pair of lovingly engraved Silver Singer Wedding Scissors.

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