The Saturday Journal: Birthdays and Mothers

It was summer--my brothers and my sister's birthdays are in the summer months--mid May and late June. And I can't recollect which birthday it was--thinking more the June birthdays--anyway on our birthdays--the birthday boy or girl--their gift was a special cake. Mama baked and decorated our cakes for a few years and then started ordering our special cakes from Key City Bakery. The bakery cakes spelled out our names on the top of the cake and the white icing on these cake--it was delicious!

These cakes from Key City Bakery were decorated with swirls and ruffles and dots and flowers of all colors. And we would eat on the birthday cakes for days it seemed, until the icing on the outside became hard--almost crunchy--but still soft on the inside--and still--delicious!!

I later learned this amazing icing was made with powdered sugar, milk, vanilla extract, and back in the "ole" days--a mandatory ingredient in any kitchen--Crisco.

Another hallmark of our birthdays was--we all got presents--all four of us--no matter whose birthday we were celebrating--we all got a little something--never a lot--we didn't have money for that. The "real birthday child" though, got the special cake, of course, and a bigger gift.

However on this birthday--my Mama, well she had bad news--a few days before the magical day she said, 'We don't have the money right now to buy a bunch of presents--there'll only be cake this birthday.'

What?!! No presents!!??

One of us, though had the perfect comeback to this bad news--the perfect solution!

'You have a checkbook, Mama!'

In the "ole" days there was no such thing as a debit card--so our golden ticket was, the checkbook!

'That don't mean we have any money--you have to have money in the bank to write a check.' Mama tried to explain.

Our balloon--bubble--"our" anticipated birthday had been ruined by this bad news. Now, don't get me wrong--we--my siblings and I were far from spoiled--but I guess we did whine some--complained--and most likely, cried at some point at this "no good terrible news".

There was this one store that was a favorite of my childhood--the Western Auto Store on Mainstreet, North Wilkesboro. And it wasn't just an automotive store--it was more of a hardware--general store--no groceries--but stuff a family needed--kids needed--like a person could buy Red Ryder BB guns, dolls, Western Flyer Bikes, and Western Flyer Little Red Wagons with the red wooden "removable" side slats.....and metal Western Flyer Little Red Wagons too.

As I recall, a shopper would enter the Western Auto through two glass doors and the merchandise was separated by what looked like a hall--without walls. And at the back of the store was what I can only describe as the hallelujah staircase. It was wide--it was grand--with lots of steps--nothing like boring--scary escalators. And at the top of the staircase was, hallelujah--the toy department!! The sight of all those toys could easily make a child shout praise!

Tiny Troll dolls with neon colored hair sprouting out of their heads like carrot tops lined the shelves along with other toys of my childhood--Tonka Trucks, train sets, games, dolls.... I had a few of those little Troll dolls--who would have ever dreamed they would have their own movie now--singing songs from, not today--but the "good ole days".

The Western Auto store eventually moved to another location during my childhood--the other location didn't seem to be as magical--no staircase that I can remember. But maybe it was me too--growing older. A local bank moved into the original Western Auto building on Main Street and rumor was (in which I believe)--one of the bankers who worked there--on his desk--alongside his leather desk pad and calculator--laid--always, a shotgun--just in case.

Growing up Daddy had a Jeep--white hard top and the body of the Jeep--an orange color--not bright neon orange--just a light colored orange. One time he promised us kids a few dollars to help him wax his Jeep--but what he didn't disclose to us before offering us the cash was--we would be in charge of waxing the inside of the Jeep. The metal roof of the Jeep to be exact--white wax on a white roof. And cleaning the wax from the roof of his Jeep--the white tiny dried wax particles fell on our faces--in our hair and in our eyes--like rain. It was not fun--by no means. And Daddy, I'm sure he had a good laugh--later--in private.

On this summer day, I remember Mama driving Daddy's white and orange Jeep and parking it under the pine tree in the front yard--not sure why she parked it there considering Daddy wanted it always parked under the shed. And perhaps they were riding together and he was driving and parked it there--this part of the memory is unclear.

However, I can see the Jeep in my mind, even now--so vividly--parked underneath the white pine tree.

Us kids were playing in the front yard and we saw something in the back seat of the Jeep--two large bags and we could see something sticking out of the bags--like colored boxes. We questioned Mama about the bags and I don't remember if she told us to go and get the bags out of the Jeep or she got them out--but what we discovered once we had the bags in hand--they were full of birthday presents from the Western Auto store!! And my memory doesn't serve me well on what the toys were--only two items I can remember--another Monopoly game--we had worn the one we had out, and the game of Life.

I can't speak for my siblings, but I'm sure they had to wonder as I did--where'd Mama and Daddy get the money?

They never told us--and most likely, we didn't ask.

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A few years ago I shared the story, Dear Child--Your Mama Keeps Secrets here on The Saturday Journal and in The Saturday Journal, A Collection of Stories, Volume 1.

I wanted to share it once again along with today's story, The Saturday Journal: Birthdays and Mothers--in honor and memory of all the Mamas and Grandmothers and Women--on this Mother's Day.

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Dear Child,

It may come as a surprise to you–even shock you a little– learning your Mama kept

secrets from you. And still does when she deems it necessary. Not mistruths–but

secrets.

Like for example...

She never told you as a teenager, she couldn’t sleep nights until she saw headlights

shining through the bedroom window. And then she knew--you were safe and

sound–home.

She never told you how often her pillow was soaked in tears over the little things–such

as the first time you were running a fever and she held you all day. And she as a young

mother had no idea what to do besides hold you close and pray.

She never told you the times you came home from school with an order form for

pictures or an invitation to the book fair to buy books, or a note from the teacher

needing supplies for an upcoming party. And your family’s bank account was near the

bottom--broke. You never knew. It was a secret. Because she made it work–somehow.

She never told you just how hard her heart worried, maybe even hurt. A little–NO. A

LOT. Watching and growing with you through all your firsts and lasts. Your first day at

school–first day of high school–first day you sat at the wheel, alone, and she watched

you drive away.

Or the first time you fell in love and then experienced heartbreak. Or your first day of college.

First day at work, at your first job. And your lasts–last day of kindergarten–

last day of high school–or the last night you slept in your bed at home as

her baby girl or baby boy–because when tomorrow came–your wedding vows did too.

She never told you of the many nights she stayed up late to make sure your ball uniform

was washed and dried and hanging up in your room the next morning–ready for the

next game.

She never told you there were days she looked at other Mamas who seemed to have it

all together and compared herself to them. Labeled herself a loser Mama and

questioned why she wasn’t a better Mama. That she just couldn’t seem to get it all

done. Get it right.

She never told you the number of diapers she changed, or meals she prepared, or how

many pairs of socks she matched or didn’t. But you can bet she always counted the

number of candles on your birthday cake.

She never told you how she worried all day--were you cold--were you going to get sick--

the day she dressed you for school in shorts and a t-shirt and it was colder than

expected.

She never told you she wanted to run away and hide, just for a few hours on the

difficult, most terrible days–of being a Mama.

She never told you there were bits of egg shells in the birthday cake you made her.

You didn’t know–she ate shells and all.

She never told you–she knew. She knew you had found your Christmas present hidden

deep inside the closet, unwrapped it, and wrapped it back.

She never told you on some occasions she didn’t tell your Daddy–everything. Even

though she said more than once, ‘Wait until your Daddy gets home!’

Mamas do keep secrets, dear child. You can count on them.

With love,

From a Mama who kept secrets

and her Mama kept secrets

and her Mama kept secrets

and one day dear child you will keep secrets from your children too

and love flows on like a mighty river.

---

Happy Mother's Day!

Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.

Proverbs 31:25

Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.

Proverbs 31:31

I am grateful for each of you--more than you will ever know.

 And I pray, the stories shared in this space will encourage you--

bring a smile or remembrance, and bless you in some small way.

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All stories copyright and owned by the author, Tathel Miller,

photographs copyright and owned by Tathel Miller,

unless otherwise credited to another photographer.

Soli Deo Gloria

Tathel

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The Saturday Journal Book Club

coming soon!