Growing up in a family with seven children can make one different from other kids who are the center of their family’s universe. I was the fifth of the seven. When I was an infant my mother had to get a job to help keep food on the table. You heard right—not so that we could have cool clothes or lots of stuff but to put food on the table.
Soon after moving to Fort Worth when I was nearly six, my mother discovered she was pregnant again. She had a lovely job teaching school at Eagle Mountain Lake with perhaps her favorite principal of all time, the father of my sister’s fiancé: Mr. Gililland. Since I was so young at the time, I only recently learned Mom cried when she found out she was expecting. My Dad was always glad to have another child, and we kids thought a baby would be great. Of course I didn’t realize that in the fifties Mom wouldn’t be allowed to teach if her pregnancy was not hidden. I think she managed to wear loose dresses and work until Christmas before my little brother was born in early February.
Food was plainer and supplemented by the few things my parents would allow Mamaw and Papa Stem to give us from their black dirt and rock-laden farm. But we survived, and I learned without being told that we would all have to help manage when Mom returned to her teaching the next fall. That meant helping take care of our darling baby brother, which we all were happy to do. I changed diapers and did chores as we all did.
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| My Bluebird Troop (I'm the sad one sitting on the far right) |
I belonged to Blue Birds which later ‘flew up’ to become Camp Fire Girls. My mother never was a leader or even sent snacks. I was thankful that we could come up with the weekly dime for dues. At one meeting a campfire and ceremony was planned for our troop. It was a big deal, but I felt Mom and Dad would be too tired and had too many responsibilities to be able to attend. So I just asked another girl for a ride to the park and told Mom that I needed them to pick me up after it was over.
I don’t even remember what the occasion for the ceremony was, and I don’t think it bothered me a whit that I had no parents to watch. After dark when the evening was done I ran out to the car among the many cars of the other girls’ parents. Mother was crying when I hopped in. “Tahna, why didn’t you tell me we were supposed to be here? We could have come!” Mom sniffled. I was perplexed. I knew she had so much on her plate to deal with. I didn’t mind her not being there. I knew my parents loved me and were proud of me. It was a way I could help out.
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| The Box Sisters holding baby sister, Camille |
Years later, in college when I broke up with my best friend who was also my boyfriend, I didn’t call my mom to tell her. I just moped and struggled on my own in Austin trying to handle my grief alone. To my surprise, one afternoon my mom showed up in Austin to take me to dinner. She’d had a meeting somewhere nearby and had stopped to see me. My parents didn’t come to visit me at UT. They still had my younger brother and sister at home in high school, and that just wasn’t something they did. Soon the light dawned, and I realized she’d somehow found out about the difficult place I was in. We didn’t talk much about it but she made it clear that she was there to comfort and encourage me. Wow, that was great!
Now I see that being mindful of my parent’s needs and being a helping part of our family was some of the best part of my childhood. Unfortunately, it also tends to make a child very independent. It means that though a mom really wants to know when her children are needy and wants to watch their triumphs, sometimes she doesn’t get told.
My boyfriend and I at a church retreat
My husband and I had four lovely children, which was a large family to most of our friends. We struggled to make ends meet when John Bob bought the Medicine Shoppe. I went back to teaching when my baby boy was only four. I’m sure each of them has a memory or two of something they gave up to help me manage to work during their young years.
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| Our precious four (and husband, best friend) before I went back to teaching |
I used to think that after they grew up and went off to make a home that I wouldn’t spend as much time praying for my precious four and striving to keep from worrying… Not so! I find myself daily praying for each of them and getting those ‘Mother’s sixth sense’ about them when I think they’re going through a rough patch. I hope that though I raised them as independent people, they’ll also let me in on their struggles.
My Mama is almost ninety-two, but I still visit her and tell her about my needs and the needs of my children because I realize better now at sixty that Moms need to know about the things their children are experiencing. We may be busy with working or helping at church or serving those among whom we live, but we always desire to be a part of our children’s lives even when it hurts. Because it hurts more not to know.
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| My mother clowning with her daughters at family reunion |
