Looking up at you, mom

We should pay tribute to all the mothers out there today. Female…and male.
I’ve had two moms - one by birth and the other by marriage. They both are gone now, which, in the great realm of time, probably should have been expected, but it is, nevertheless, way too soon.
My mother was the one who got into everything we did as kids. She was one of the first female scout masters of my cub scout pack. This was when most moms were den mothers for weekly meetings, but it was mostly men running the pack. My mom didn’t just break that ceiling, she smashed it.
She loved sending us away for a week in the summer to Camp Eastman in Nauvoo as a nice reprieve for her. Just becoming an adult myself in the last few years, I’ve come to respect that value of some alone time. But, on that Wednesday each year, she loved coming to camp and seeing what we were doing for family night. She always replenished the Diet Dr. Pepper and sugar free snacks for me, and the good stuff for my brothers. She always had us prepared for weekend camping trips whether it was warm or cold-weather camping. We didn’t want for much as we trekked through timber with compasses and canteens.
She was also supportive of the sports we played in high school. She was at every football game and every ‘home’ basketball game. She didn’t travel too much for high school basketball – there were just too many games and they were during the week. She taught at Danville then so she didn’t like to travel on weeknights. But Friday nights under the lights were her jam. She was a football girl. She was an athlete in her own right. She played “rover” at BHS at a time when one player could roam on both halves of the court in six-on-six. She had some skills. I remember one particular weekend day when I was running off at the mouth, I smarted off to my great grandmother. My mom shot off the back porch and chased me around the backyard. I kept looking back as I ran from her and her face was so red and she was so mad, I just started cracking up. I was laughing so hard running from her that she caught me. I think I caught a swat for that one.
From the time I was a little kid pitching in Little League, I could always hear her yelling when something good happened. I brought a little heat from the mound when I was young and she was all, YAAAAAASSSS! every time I got a K. I’ll never forget that. Sometimes it would even crack up my coaches. I would smile and go back to the mound.
One time in particular I was throwing at Danville and threw a heater that got ripped right back at my face. I remember seeing this thing in what appeared to be slow motion moving in the air as it shot right back at my face. I got a glove on it and the momentum of the catch spun me around. The crowd in the bleachers behind home plate couldn’t see if I caught it or not, they just heard a smack.
My mom screamed like someone had been shot. I can still hear that today. I turned back around and had the ball in my glove and everyone started cracking up. I looked at her and her hands were over her mouth and I could only see her eyes and they were moons on top of her cheeks.
It’s not ego in saying this, but we didn’t lose very often when I was a kid, and I say that because I remember her being so happy on the way home or when we got home if I didn’t ride home with her.  Typically we went up to the Little B for an ice cream cone on the coach.
Seeing her so happy was part of the joy of playing ball. I think she thought I was gonna go pro - until I broke her heart and said I couldn’t play for the Reds ‘cuz I was afraid to fly.
Then one day, I took a ball in from left field off the shortstop’s glove when I was playing second. The shortstop jumped to cut it and then pulled his glove down suddenly and it went off his glove and smashed me in the face breaking my nose. I cried like I was dying or something and had blood all over my shirt. When I got home, mom was like, “What happened?”.
“I think I broke my nose!”
My younger brother had walked home with me and he was like, “Yeah, it could be broken, but God mom, he wouldn’t stop crying!”
Mom’s dream had already been shattered by the revelation that I wouldn’t be getting on an airplane anytime soon, so her visions of furs and mansions and swimming pools had subsided and she had less of a concern with my nose.
She looked at it and instead of taking me to the hospital - we were four boys on a single income - she said, “It’s fine”.
I’m sure it’s still broken and it’s probably leading to restricted airflow, and sleep deprivation, poor taste, and other sensory defects. But “it’s fine”.
She got over her depression of a son not pitching at Riverfront Stadium and showering her with treasure for the sacrifices she made raising four boys. And she started to realize that maybe I would write about sports rather than play. I tried to pitch in high school. But – I sucked. I just couldn’t get back in there as the PTSD from seeing a ball smash into my face became too much to overcome.
In the wake of the tragedy of a broken boy – a broken dream, she re-engaged and became a normal mom again. Vacations were taken. Christmas returned from socks and handkerchiefs, to toys and treats. She had forgiven me for being a coward, and thank God, because I was an ornery kid to say the least and forgiveness became an everyday occurrence – and requirement of my mother.
She did the best she could and that was more than we needed. We never really knew we were poor.  Our lives were filled with blessings and love and tolerance, but most of all pride in her boys. We doted on her later in life. My youngest brother Mike tried to keep most of the things around the house fixed. I tried to be more cerebral, but she saw through that crap…until she got sick. I guess my pretention only goes so far. But Mom, we love ya, we miss ya, and we live in your legacy. Thanks for everything.
Every year, I usually call one of my guy friends that hasn’t received a Mother’s Day call from me, and I say "Happy Mother’s Day". They say, “What?” and I say, “You’re the biggest mother I know.” – But that’s Beside the Point.
Chuck Vandenberg is editor and co-owner of Pen City Current and can be reached at Charles.V@PenCityCurrent.com.