to three moms who taught me a bunch.

My grandma Selma – my mother’s mother – had a tough upbringing. Raised on a farm in west Texas, she was the oldest of four girls. One day, at the age of 16, she woke up and her daddy had left home. Her sisters and mother never heard from him again. I guess he thought there was a better life for him out there somewhere, at least less restraining, than the one he had. Farming really ties you down, as do four daughters. And farmers are usually hoping for sons so they can get some hard labor out of them.

That put Cora – my great grandmother – in a real pickle, since they had no income outside the farm, and the farm was too much for the girls to manage.  Cora went to work in town, while my grandma dropped out of high school to raise her three little sisters. They still lived on the farm, but didn’t do any farming – just chickens, milk cows, strawberries, things like that. No heavy machinery.

They finally got the youngest sister graduated from high school, and the next fall my grandma started college. Two years later, she got accepted at Tulsa University and earned a degree in Paleontology, of all things. One of my favorite photographs of Grandma is of her in her mortarboard and graduation gown. She taught me the value of working hard and keeping your spirits up. She went on to get a job at an oil company. Not bad for a dirt-poor farm girl from west Texas, right?

Some time later, my mother, Helen, graduated high school in Tulsa and began college in Chicago at Northwestern University. In the ‘40s, there were not a lot of eligible men around, so there was a lot pent up when a flood of servicemen came home from World War II.

Mom and Dad got married a few months after they met (Mom was 19), and my older brother Roger was born about 9 months and one day later. 

One of my favorite photographs of Mom is of her at her college graduation with two toddlers – Roger and me. One boy on each hip. I can only imagine starting a marriage, raising two boys, and carrying a full college load.

After she raised her family, Mom went back to college to earn a master’s degree in English.  In addition to teaching ESL at the local community college, she began tutoring English at the local prison. I told her how proud I was of her – that she had the courage and faith to teach women in prison how to read. She just laughed and said, “I don’t just teach women; I teach men, too.” I asked her if she was scared, and she said, “I know Jesus has my back. Oh, and I figure, what kind of man is going to hurt a wrinkled old bag of bones like me?”

Hard work, spirit, faith, and courage – more great lessons learned. Those of you who met her know that she was also a practical joker with a great sense of humor. I miss my mom.

The third mom, of course, is the estimable Mary Van Cleve, my lovely and wonderful wife. You know Mary, so I won’t bore you with tales of how cool she is. And if you need any proof of what kind of mom (and grandma) she is and has been, just meet the three amazing kids she raised. They are a testament to her capacity to love.

Youngest son Chris and his wife Julie got pregnant, and Julie asked for my advice on how to be a good mom. I said just study Mary and do what she does. It works. (And why the heck would you ask me such a question?)

Thank you to Mary, Helen, and Selma. Not just for being good mothers, but for setting the bar high. You never demanded that we reach the bar, but, by showing us all how to get there, you left a powerful legacy and inspiration.