Mothers teach us all sorts of things. From the very beginning, they’re teaching us nonstop. They teach us how to walk, how to feed ourselves, how to treat the dog. As we grow older, the lessons get more complicated from the simple “No!” to how to read, write, & tie our shoes. We recognize danger, thanks to the values instilled at every turn (lots of treacherous stuff out there in the world). Before long, the complicated life decisions over which friends are suitable & what grades are passable are upon us. (Although Sevier County School Systems deem a “C” passable, the school of Jody did NOT). We might have to have several lessons more than once.

We learn when to push our luck & when to say I’m sorry. They show us unconditional love.

My mother decided to teach me about Indians early on. 

The only thing that separated our house from the school was our cow pasture & pine thicket. The band practiced relentlessly throughout the summer & when we were outside together, the drums would beat ominously & I would shiver & shake with the resonating thumps. Of course I asked my momma what it was. 

“The Indians are coming to get you,” she answered solemnly every time. This never failed to send me running back into the house, lest the Indians thunder in on their painted horses & scoop me up & carry me away. 

That’s not all momma taught me about the Indians. Upon discovery of my belly button, I stuck my finger in it (duh) & asked what it was, like all kids do.

Now, I don’t know how many mothers will go into the facts of life right then & there, but my mother did not.

“That’s where the Indian shot you,” she explained.

My mother had effectively taught me to be terrified of Indians.

Now, for those of you who know her, know that my mother touts her Cherokee heritage regularly (she is as dark skinned as I am fair. I’m reasonably sure I fell off the turnip truck & she took pity on me). Mom has always loved the village just across the mountain. I was about five years old the first time she ever took me. I don’t remember much about the visit, but there is a photograph that was taken for posterity. I’m there, in front of a teepee, in my little blue velour short set showing my chubby knees, with my fists pressed to my eyes, quite clearly squalling my heart out. There is a somber “Chief” behind me, decked out in his finest orange & yellow feather headband, clearly at a loss at what to do with this child who seems to be sure she is facing certain death. 

I don’t know what all mistakes other parents make but I’d say mom had second thoughts that day about why she told me what she had about the drums & my belly button.

It’s not easy being a mom.

Especially when you’re mine, & anything you do is liable to be written about for all the Facebook world to see.

On your BIRTHDAY!!!!!! 

Happy Birthday mom. Sorry you had to work all day. Maybe someday I’ll sell all these stories from my childhood & we can put you on a boat so big you won’t even know you’re on the water. Until then, we’ll just have to keep on keepin’ on.