Moma

She skipped school on Thursdays. Thursdays were laundry days and with 11 people in the family there was a lot of laundry. Each child had different chores assigned to them and she was given laundry. It was an old hand crank washer and the dryer was a clothes line, so naturally it took her the entire day. There was no time for school...not on Thursdays.
Yet moma was a gifted student. When she was old enough to enter school, her mom kept her home an extra year. She was never sure why, except that she was very close to her mom and perhaps Sitta just wanted her with her.
The Nun's at the school recognized her intelligence. They asked her how old she was, but birthdays were not important in the early 30s and moma didn't know her age.
Without this knowledge the good Sister was not able to put her up a grade as she had hoped, but she did give her extra work to challenge her.
When it came time to sign report cards, she signed her own. Her mother could not read very well, having only completed 3rd grade. English was her 2nd language. She had come to America years before with her father so she depended on Katherine to help her with things like report cards and other school matters.

I remember looking at her feet when I was a little girl. Mama's feet were old and worn way before she was 30. She told me that the family could not afford shoes during the depression so she went barefoot around the house and saved the shoes for school. The ones she wore were hand me down shoes that were too small for her feet. They hurt her as she walked to Kirby Smith Jr. High school. As a result her toes overlapped and were permanently cramped looking. At night when she watched tv, sometimes those poor old feet would cramp up and hurt her, but she didn't complain.
Moma was never a complainer.

Moma was brilliant. Although she missed one day of school a week, she finished 3rd in her high school class and went on to become a bookkeeper. She could add up figures in her head faster than the clerk could enter them into the old fashioned cash register and if the clerk made an error, she was sure to notice and have her correct it. Perhaps it was her natural ability with numbers or it might have been the years she helped out in her father's store.

Moma also had a temper, although her children rarely saw it. Her older sister once told me that when they were playing jacks, mother lost the game. I don't know how old she was at the time, but her sister insisted that Katherine leaned over and bite her on the nose when she lost the game. Moma denied the story.

I loved moma's family. There were eight daughters and moma was number 5. The oldest sister was one of my favorites. She had a lovely laugh and funny sense of humor. Moma said that this sister (I will call Rose) helped to raise her. She said that Rose raised her and the next sister (I will call Susan) helped raised the 3rd. sister...(Beebee) Then Moma helped raise sister number 6 (Margie) and Beebee helped raise sister number 7, (Deedee). Then Moma and Margie helped raise (Annie) and Beebee and Susan helped raise (Nettie). I thought about this for a long time and came to the conclusion that my favorite sisters were the ones that Rose and Mom helped raise...Margie and Annie. They were the fun sisters....full of smiles, laughter and personality. The other sisters were more serious and less likely to laugh or tell a funny story. If you were wondering what happened to child number 4...well he was a boy. He didn't have to help raise anyone.

The funny thing is that the oldest sister and my mom were very close. Rose had a hardy laugh and a big smile. She used to tease my dad and curse at him in Lebanese.
I thought it was great fun. Years later I learned that Rose didn't like my dad very much and dad didn't really care for Rose. They got on each other's nerves. Well if they didn't get along well, then they hide it well. Over the years the two sisters spent a lot of time together. When Rose's husband died, mom and dad spent almost every weekend with Rose. They would go play Bingo or out to dinner. One of my favorite memories was staying with my cousin while her mother and my parents went out for the night. Rose was the first sister to pass away from this life.
She is buried near my mother's grave, so when I go to bring mom fresh flowers I always walk over to Aunt Rose and bring her some too.

Then I walk over to where my grandparents are buried. Their plot is under a large oak tree. You can see the graves from the street. When I was a little girl, sometimes dad would take the back way to town to avoid traffic. This took us past the cemetary. I would always look out of the window and search for their graves.
When my mom passed away, her remaining sisters mentioned something about Rose and their parents being buried around there "somewhere". I showed them the way to both graves....not sure why I was the only one who knew. That day I decided to become the official grave keeper and once a year my husband and I go and wash the stones, rake the area and plant new flowers.

In the fall, when the weather cools I will return to the cemetary and replace the old faded silk flowers with fresh fall colors. On that day I will visit 13 graves of family members on my husband's and my side. I will place flowers on all of the graves, brush away the cobwebs, pick up any broken tree branches and move on to the next person....but on one grave I will linger longer, remembering the little girl who walked to school in ill fitting shoes, who calculated faster than the cash register,
who baked the best cakes in the world, and who crocheted every new baby his/her own blanket...and thought far enough ahead to make two blankets for yet unborn grandchildren..one of the blankets given to my daughter as a wedding present long after cancer had stilled her worn hands. I will pause...and I will remember moma.