More Like My Mother

Once, when I was a kid, there was an encyclopedia salesman going door to door around our neighborhood.

My mom asked him in, told him she couldn’t buy a set right now, but gave him the scoop on who on our street had kids and might be willing to buy.

Then she fixed him some lunch.

***

When I was in collage, my sister Lou came to visit me.

On the bus ride back to Buffalo, she befriended some people who spoke in a familiar accent. They spoke with a German accent like our brother Heiner (an exchange student from Switzerland who had lived with us for a year).

They asked if she knew of a place to camp when they arrived.

She told them there were no places to camp in the city . She said when they reached the bus station, she’d ask mom if they could come home and stay.

When they arrived at the bus station, the three visitors hung back ( I assume to avoid the sting of rejection). Lou told mom about them. There was no place to camp in Buffalo and besides, it was pouring down rain.

Of course, my mom said. “Tell them to come on!”

That same day, Heiner’s sister and brother-in-law, who were Flight Attendants with Swiss Air, had a lay over in Toronto and came to stay.

Also, AFS, the organization who sponsored the exchange students, had a group touring in the area (two of which were German speaking) and they showed up at our house too.

When my dad got home from work that evening, someone (with some kind of a German accent no doubt) asked him, “Where are you from?”

“I live here!” he said.

I wasn’t there, but my guess is that he probably headed for the basement. His wood shop was down there and it was his refuge when things got a little crazy.

***

That was my mother. She was a great hostess. She loved to entertain. And she was really good at it.

My husband’s and my idea of entertaining is to sit under the carport in the evening and wave as cars go by.

Once, when someone waved back, my husband wondered out loud what we would do if they pulled into the driveway and wanted to chat.

We looked at each other and laughed.

As much as I treasure my peace and quiet, as much as I love that my husband is an introvert like me, as much as I feel that my home is my fortress of solitude, I sometimes wish I was more like my mother.

She was generous and welcoming and loved being in the center of a whirlwind.

She loved people, she loved knowing about people, and she loved making people happy–especially with a good meal.

My mom was happiest when she had someone to take care of. In her pre-marriage days, she worked in a school for the deaf and loved her students like they were her own.

Much later in life, she worked in a home for unwed mothers. She coached them through labor and delivery, among other things, and loved “her girls.”

Some time after that, she worked in our church rectory cooking for the priests and she loved that, too.

Crowds of people terrify me. I can deal with it a little better if it’s something like work or school where there is limited interaction and it’s somewhat predictable.

My mom could interact with a crowd of strangers like she’d known them all her life!

My mother was definitely an extrovert; I am definitely not.

I got a lot of good stuff from my mother, but I always admired her way with people, her enthusiasm for being around folks.

As much of an introvert as I am, I sometimes wish I’d gotten a little bit of that in the mix.

~~~

Is there a trait one of your parents have that you wish you’d been blessed with?