Before your Mom was your Mom

Who was your mom before she was your mom?  Before you identified her as the person who had the power to give or withhold what you wanted, whether it was a bottle, a toy, her attention, or freedom? 

Most of us grow up with stories of our mothers’ growing up, sometimes filtered by their parents, siblings, and friends.  My grandparents died when I was young, so I never got a chance to see their perspectives.  My family spent several vacations roaming the countryside of south Georgia, the Decatur neighborhoods, and the grounds of the boarding school and college she attended with her older sister, Charlotte, whom everyone calls Chartie.  I heard stories on those trips about my mother’s identity as a pianist, first taught by her mother, who trained her to read and memorize music by learning the treble clef first, then the bass clef, and then bringing the two together.  Grandmother’s teacher, Aunt Grace, eventually took over, and Mother was on her way to being a classically trained pianist, practicing at least two hours a day, and then later much more when she attended graduate school at the Indiana University School of Music in the 1950’s.   

I had heard these stories before, but what I didn’t know was the fruits of those long hours of practice.  That is, until she gave us all of her record albums.  Included were some long-forgotten vinyl recordings of her undergraduate and graduate recitals.  Nels cleaned them using one machine especially for that purpose, and then transferred them to compact disc as a Mother’s Day present for her.  I came down to the basement as he was doing this, and was caught up in wonder.  My mom, who used to wear polyester shorts as she folded load after load of laundry at the kitchen table, and overcooked chicken because she was afraid if she didn’t it would kill us, could do this?  Of my three siblings, I am the only one who did not become a musician.  If I had to choose a favorite pianist, I would probably pick Stevie Wonder.  But listening to my mother play pieces by Hindemith (a 20^th century composer), Bach, Beethoven, and Chopin is not only a path into her virtuosity, but into who she was as a young woman in her early 20’s, before marriage and definitely before children.    

After we gave Mom the CD’s, she told me that the  Beethoven Opus 110 Fugue was the most difficult piece.  She also said that it might be familiar to me, as she practiced and played it for a concert when we lived in Little Rock while she was pregnant with me in the late 1960's.  As I listen to it now, a little distorted by time and scratches on the vinyl, I can feel her passion and concentration.  This, too, is my mother.  She is more than the person who didn’t want me to drive alone at night; who put a vase of snapdragons on the bathroom counter when I despaired at ever learning to put in contacts; and who let more go than I will ever know.  My mother’s piano playing is one of her gifts to the world that had been buried.  Like an archaeologist digging up artifacts from a lost civilization, I feel humbled and delighted to be part of something from the past that is so beautiful and mysterious. 

To all the mothers out there:  don’t be afraid to excavate your pre-mom identity.  You are a whole person, full of history and legend, and your children will appreciate this about you.

To all the children out there:  one of the biggest gifts you can give your mother is to see her as that whole person who existed before you; and now, exists beyond you and your scope of understanding.  Please appreciate and cherish that.  This is not just for your mother, but for you.  Your life will be richer.  I promise.