I hadn’t yet had the privilege of contributing to the Wellsville Sun on Mother’s Day or perhaps this would have been written then in honor of my mother, Frances Miles, who is no longer with us. It does seem appropriate however, to be written between Mother’s Day and Father’s Day as she filled the role of both, for my sister and me.
This may come across as being a sad piece but really it isn’t, nor was there ever a time of sadness growing up. My biological father abandoned us at a time when I was yet of an age to not have known him. From what I later learned, that was probably best for all involved. Times were rough I must admit and the early going saw a lot of struggles for my mother without a penny of support from the deadbeat, but certainly showed her will and her strength to have raised us given all the challenges. I had previously written and shared a poem entitled “My Mother Was a Factory Worker”, but early on in this writing, I hadn’t yet decided whether to share that poem along with the one that I wrote for this occasion, and which follows.
Aw, Heck, I express myself better poetically, and more succinctly anyway, so I will let both poems tell, what they say is; the rest of the story…
My Mother Was A Factory Worker
My mother was a fact’ry worker, she seemed to never rest.
But of the scholars I’ve ever known, she was the very Best.
Born to a farmer, that was her life, past high School just was no choice.
Despite the challenge, an Army wife, her wisdom was the voice.
The second grade I was doomed to fail, I hadn’t learned to write.
I practiced hours close by her side, I learned to do it right.
In high school days, my math a challenge, in school her math excelled.
We worked for hours, “times two” was learned, and too, how words were spelled.
My mother was a fact’ry worker, but time not short for me.
Had she not taken the time to teach and show what I could be.
My Mother Was My Father
As Father’s Day is soon to be, it means to some far more than me.
Life isn’t always fair you see, nor for us brings one fatherly.
Sometimes a mother’s love unfolds, when to her bosom, you she holds.
And to you whispers we’ll be bold, I’ll be your dad, that too my role.
I guess the one who gave his seed, saw not that I, a dad would need.
But mom was capable the deed and nourished me with love my feed.
I had no one that I called dad, odd though it seems I was not sad.
My mother gave me all she had, she filled both roles for which I’m glad.
Happy Father’s Day Mom! Rest in Peace.
