This Mother’s Day, ask mom for her story
Every mother is a woman you never knew
I thought I knew my mother well — until I interviewed her.
We sat on my back patio in Tucson while my dad watched a baseball game inside. With my mini-cassette tape recorder engaged, I asked my mother, Betty Jo Winters, to describe the happiest and saddest days of her life. I asked about her childhood pets and best friends. I asked about her high school years, her dreams, early boy crushes and about meeting my dad. I asked her what I was like as a toddler. I even asked her how she learned about sex.
I was 50 years old; she was 73. It was 1994. Altogether we spent five hours talking. We laughed; we cried. One of her stories broke my heart.
My mother was valedictorian of her high school class of 1937 and the cheerleading squad captain. She was headed to college to become a physical education teacher. Then, her father died. “Martha,” she said, “my mother told me I could not go to college because there was only enough money for my brothers. This is one of my saddest days.”
My mother told me that when I went to college, she worried that she’d embarrass me because she wasn’t as educated. I was stunned. I told her about how much my friends and I admired her, how we wanted her emotional intelligence, listening skills and ability to discern the character of others.
The truth is, I did not have my mother’s listening skills for much of my life. This interview would not have been possible when I was 35. I would have interrupted her, argued with her about some part of her reality, and even said something judgmental. It became clear that her strengths were my weaknesses, which I had never acknowledged to her. Now I could. Our burdens lifted.
We laughed when she told me that she and my dad didn’t know much about sex when they got married, but they learned. And when I asked about her happiest times, I was stung to hear that they weren’t family gatherings but romantic getaways with my dad.
At the end of the interview, she told me she had shared feelings and inner thoughts with me that she had never shared with anyone. “I found part of myself again; this helped me come a little closer to you,” she said. And then she surprised me by saying, “Thank you for sharing some of yourself with me.”
I interviewed my mother 25 years ago and had to have those mini-cassettes transcribed. Today, it can be done with a smartphone, and self-publishing houses make it easy to convert the interview to a book.
Each of us wants to feel our life matters; we want to be known. We connect with others and understand ourselves through stories. Millions are even swabbing their cheeks for their DNA history. We simply want our story told.
Three years after our interview, I was sitting on the side of my mother’s bed holding her hand while morphine controlled her cancer pain. Leaning into her ear, I whispered, “Mom, I have been offered a prestigious job, but I feel uncertain about moving forward with it.” Instantly she propped herself up, stared at me and said, “You go for it, Martha.” She had always encouraged me to go after my dreams uninhibited by the culture that had so limited her.
My mother died before I took the time to write up her story and gift it to her with a Mother’s Day card that said, “Thank you for all you did for me.”
If it is possible for you, don’t miss the chance to understand the complexity of your mother’s life, forgive her for not being perfect, and learn what she did for you. This year, go beyond the rituals of Mother’s Day and give your mother the gift of her story.