Motherinlaw tale, from flubs to love

Students called her Mrs. T. She expected me as her soninlaw to call her “Mom.” It took me years to utter the “M” word.

Perhaps my discomfort with the “M” word was because I could think of having only one mother. I conceived of every imaginable way to skirt around calling Mrs. T “Mom,” frequently by angling myself in front of her so no salutation was necessary. Saying “By the way,” to get her attention had not cut it.

Mrs. T and I got off to a rocky beginning when I asked her and her husband for their daughter’s hand in marriage. To be honest, I didn’t ask. I told them.

One Friday evening at their kitchen table Mrs. T spoke of how her daughter was so helpful around their home. I blurted out, “Mrs. T you better start looking for a new housekeeper.” A perceptive lady, she immediately understood, then turned to her husband and said, “Do you know what he’s saying?”

Later, as her soninlaw my flubs continued, too many to list. For one, her family complained about my aloofness. Hugging and kissing relatives during hellos and goodbyes was awkward for me. As was having to smooch her close friends. Each person’s name seemed to be preceded by Aunty, Uncle or “Cous.”

Sunday afternoon dinners caused Mrs. T further angst. As she started serving, I would be watching a baseball or football game in the family room. A stickler for ontime sitdowns, she would ask my wife to call me to the table — often at a critical point in the game and reason enough to delay my joining them immediately.

Assimilating into their clan came about gradually. I became a hugger and kisser extraordinaire, at first for family harmony, and afterwards because it felt right.

My bond with Mrs. T grew. We discovered a mutual fascination for movies from her era. We’d challenge each other about who played what role in which old film.

Moreover, she tried teaching me how to dance. A professional ballroom dancer once, she had ably taught others. Yet no matter how much we practiced I was unable to get beyond the threestep foxtrot basics.

Later, a business undertaking with costs led me to asked her for help. Afterward, I tried repaying her. With her graceful dancer’s hand, she waved me off. We never spoke about it again.

A doer and achiever, she went on to become a business education instructor and Dean of Students at a school in Queens, NY. After she retired, she spoke of letters students had sent her. Because Mrs. T had a huge personality and occasionally exaggerated, I wondered if she was expanding the truth.

The letters were real, more than 100 of them with students praising her for having inspired them. Many heralded her for the “Your Attitude is Showing” course she created and taught. I envisioned a book titled, “Letters to Mrs. T.” with her recollections of each student writer. Regrettably, I dropped that idea.

I am uncertain when she became “Mom” to me. It may have been when she lived with us during my recovery from a quadruple heart bypass. It was as if I had a daytime nurse when my wife went to work.

Our relationship flourished. So much so that my wife would say, “I think my mother cares more for you than for me.” I doubted that.

In 2012 as her health began failing, her memory turned fuzzy. The family placed her in an assisted living facility. One year later at age 93 dementia took her.

Before the funeral services I reread every letter and, in my eulogy, quoted from three of them. My favorite two lines were “My life before meant nothing to me. But you gave me something to live for.” Good educators influence their pupils in so many ways.

Weeks ago, I looked at the calendar for this month’s column due date. As my eyes rolled down to the 25th of September, her birthday, I knew instantly this article would be about her time in my life.

I have written before that we can become more selfaware by recalling the lives we’ve lived. It can remind us about the largeness of the love some have left us with. So true for Mrs. T, my motherinlaw.

Mrs. T was a teacher who influenced many students.