Category Archives: Mamas and Daddies

These blogs are about moms and dads.

Influence: The Show Must Go On -By Donna

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My daughter’s presence has graced the stage multiple times throughout her 24 years. Often a local radio station will interview those involved in a show. Each time Emily was asked the question, “How did you get started doing this kind of thing?” Her answer: “In first grade I went to see the play ‘Annie’, and when I looked at those kids on stage, I thought ‘why am I not doing that?’  I went home and told my mom I wanted to try out for the next play.”

I wish her reply stopped there. She could have easily let that be her answer, but she always continues with the rest of the story which includes me. The fact that she always shares how determined she was has made me realize how my actions could have negatively influenced her.

Determination

Emily has always been the opposite of me. She is loud, daring, outgoing, and loves to be in front of people. At age four, she walked by the TV and saw a child on a talk show. She said, “I will be on TV one day.” Often she came home from school saying that her teacher took her to the office to perform for the principal or another classroom to act for someone. So, I really wasn’t surprised at her request to try-out for a play.

I vividly remember the night of auditions for the upcoming play. Her dad dropped us off in front of Rome Little Theater. Emily was raring to go in. As we walked toward the door, I stopped her. Her little face looked up at me. “Emily, you don’t have to do this. We can go home. It doesn’t matter that we drove all the way to town.”  Searching my face for answers she replied, “I want to do this.”

“Emily, you will have to go on the stage and talk in front of all those people. People you don’t even know. We can just go back home.”  To which she replied, “I’m going in.” And proceeded in the door.

Success

I honestly felt sheer dread as they called her number. My heart was beating out of my chest and I felt like I was the one going on stage. She walked up on stage and they asked her to “slate”.  Emily stood silent, having no idea what that meant. I panicked more. The director said, “That means tell us your name, how old you are, and where you are from.”

Grinning from ear to ear, with a face full of expression, she boomed without a microphone, “I’m Emily Tumlin, I’m seven years old, and I’m from Rome, Georgia!”

I have always joked that she was switched at birth, and at that point I was beginning to believe it. Although she was the youngest there, she got her first part in a show. Since then she has performed in many shows, been an extra on the big screen, and accomplished what she said she would at age four by having a small speaking part on a TV episode.

Influence

The second part of her answer to the DJ is always this, “My mama is really shy and she tried to talk me out of it, but I did it anyway.” That was not a proud parent moment for me. I am a teacher, and I encourage children every day. But that day I was a discourager. I always think about the “what if.” If she had listened to me and my fear, she may have never discovered her passion. When I listened to her last week on The Ridge 95.7 and heard those words again, I cringed at my lack of support that day.

If you have a vision, don’t let others deter you from it with their negatives. If you have a goal or dream I highly recommend the book The Dream Giver by Bruce Wilkinson. God has given everyone a dream. The book encourages a person to pursue their dream even if others may stand in the way. I am sad to say that when I read it, I realized I was one of the characters trying to prevent a person from reaching their dream. Just like in the book, I thought I was doing it for all the right reasons. I believed I was protecting my child from failure, being scared, and the unknown.

Since that day I have been her biggest fan. I have sat through the same show up to six times! If you find yourself on my side of the story, be an encourager. Don’t let what you would or wouldn’t do influence someone who is reaching for a goal. If you are on Emily’s side of the story, be determined.  I am thankful she was.

–Donna

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Going Home -By Donna

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Karla and I drove to my daddy’s on Father’s Day for an overnight visit. He still lives in the house I grew up in, but the definition of going home has changed over the years. During the college years, it meant someone to wash my clothes, make a homemade meal to eat, and a place to get a good night’s sleep.

When I moved into the married years with children, I was no longer the most anticipated person walking in the door. Grandkids stole the first hugs and much of the attention while we toted in all essentials needed when traveling with little ones. The older married years were lots of fun when I was home. With all five grandchildren together swimming, Mama and I would cook in the kitchen. My brothers picked on me like they used to. Eleven years ago, going home became difficult for my brothers and me. We spent time with Mama, knowing the cancer would someday result in her absence from our childhood home.

Changes

Going home now means the absence of some family, including mama and the introduction of new members. Even the pool I loved as a kid, has been filled with dirt and vegetables.

Going home may be different now, but somethings just never change. Walking in the door and greeted with hugs, Karla and I barely had time to use the bathroom before we were invited to the table. It was filled with delicious home-cooked food including veggies from the garden. For at least 40 of my 50 years, Karla and I have graced the table together many times. However, no older brother was burping and getting fussed at and my mama was not running back and forth waiting on our every need.

But as always, Daddy blessed the food. My daddy has always said, “Dear Heavenly Father” when he would begin and ended with, “and bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies, in Jesus’ name we pray, amen.”  We all held hands as I listened to his familiar southern dialect. Karla came to tears as she held his elderly hand and noticed he was constantly rubbing her hand as he prayed. Perhaps she felt the age in his hand, but she also felt the love in his heart.

More Change

The next morning I stretched and rolled over in my childhood bedroom, though nothing looked the same. No poster of Eric Estrada, stuffed animals, cat collectibles, or stereo system was seen. But the familiar smell of breakfast cooking caused me to awaken early. It’s not often someone cooks breakfast for me! Just as I was about to try and catch a few more winks, my door flew open. “Are you awake Donnie Boo? Breakfast is ‘bout near ready if y’uns want some.”

 It was a little different when I was a child and he woke me. In those days, I would hear, “Wake up Jacob, give a little light; see your daddy in a pole cat fight!” I heard it every Sunday morning as he stirred me awake to get ready for church. Still my daddy’s voice waking me brought such a smile. 

Deciding we would all go to town, Karla and I got ready. As we did so many times growing up, we stood in front of the wall mirror in the blue bathroom. We painted our faces, curled our hair, and laughed just as in years past. But I saw no tube of Clearasil, Panasonic tape player or hot rollers. What I did see were two faces with a few wrinkles sneaking in, a gray hair here and there, and smiles that have withstood many tornadoes of life together.

Saying Goodbye

When we were ready to head back home, the departing routine began as it always did in the past. Daddy checked the oil, put a little more air in the tires, and a touch of water in the radiator. All lights were inspected: front, brake, back-up and signal. He packed the car making sure nothing was sticking up high enough that my view would be blocked. Then he cleaned the front windshield so that I could see clearly.

 

What had changed? The man, who was smiling and waving at us as we pulled away. He looked like the man I grew up describing as old…my granddaddy. While we were growing up, Daddy was growing old.

No matter how different things are now, the love I have felt over the years and the years to come will never change. Even when my childhood home and family are no longer there to visit, they will exist in my heart.

 

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Best Friends: Livers and Lace -By Karla

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Chicken Livers?

Whenever I have the opportunity to order chicken livers, I do! You might be wondering why, but that would mean you’ve never had Nikki Turner’s chicken livers!

In fact, Donna’s mother had a bundle of talents, and she seemed to never run out of energy! I loved being around her.

She could cook most any Southern dish. I have so many memories of her standing over the sink peeling potatoes to go with her delicious barbecue chicken. Mom always tried to get me to taste sweet potatoes, but I just couldn’t stand the thought of them. However, one day helping Donna set the table, I got a whiff of the sweet aroma drifting from the turquoise wall oven. Wonder why I have always dreaded trying these? They look great. So, I did, and I’ve never passed up the dish since. This is similar to how my love for chicken livers began. I can just see me in my young years turning up my nose to the thought of putting liver to my lips, but once again…the scent sailed through the air, and I was captured. Since then, I have eaten many little livers, not beef—now that is still  gross, but only one comes close to hers. That would be Aunt Anna’s, and they probably had the same recipe.

Dream Deliverer

Her girly gifts went beyond the kitchen door and into her little sewing room. There she began mending and stitching to help make ends meet. But she had a bigger purpose for all these seams; she had a dream for an in-ground pool for her family. It didn’t take long for her goal to be achieved. In the 80’s I did not know any other family who had a pool in their backyard! We enjoyed many summer days with the to of us practicing our Olympic synchronized swimming routines!

Nikki wasn’t just an ordinary seamstress. She was a dream deliverer too. I had the privilege of viewing so many bright-eyed brides beam with excitement as they tried on their dress, and she made alterations. When it was time to create my wedding dress in 1989, there was no question about who would do it. Every step of the process was precious to me. First, we went shopping “to find my style” she explained. Then she led me to discover the exact lacey patches that would represent my femininity. She was patient with my indecisiveness and listened to my every idea. By the time she was finished, I felt like a princess!

Little five foot two Nikki Turner was a second mom, and giver of my best friend!

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Encouragement: Give me a K! -By Karla

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Cheerleader

My mom was my cheerleader! Growing up, I struggled with a reading disability as well as anxieties at times. Mom seemed to always have my back.

Tomboy/Lady

Really, Mom was a tomboy at times. In fact, I can remember in her early forties when she laid in the floor, Indian-leg wrestling my cousin Jimmy. I don’t remember who won, but I would think she probably gave him a run for his money! Mom was tough, but she very much had a lady-side to her as well. She was lovley inside and out.

Encourager

She surely knew how to lift someone when they needed a boost. Instinctively, she could help me find the silver lining in difficult situations and always encouraged me to do my best. Instilling years of Christian values, she helped me always look for the good in others and lend a helping hand. She learned from my grandparents that giving to others was a blessing in return.

Life Without Mom

This week marks the thirteenth year of Mom’s passing. Colon cancer is a painful way to die. It took many nights of prayer asking God to remove the images of her last days from my mind and replace them with sweet pictures of her instead. God is faithful; He did just that. When Mom died, I lost my cheerleader. Truly for a while I felt lost, as if a storm was erupting around me and I was struggling to find my way out.

During this time in my life, I think I was as frightened as the disciples must have been when they were in a boat in the midst of the raging winds and waves. The book of Mark shares that they cried out as Jesus was walking on the water. He replied, “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” The Bible story stays that He got in the boat with them and the wind ceased. I too cried out to Him, and He came to me calming my heart and mind. In time He helped me move forward learning to be thankful for the memories I had with Mom.

Surrounding Yourself with Christian Sisters

Today, I continue to be thankful that I have my sisters, cousins, and aunt who continue to be my cheerleaders. In addition, there are so many at my church who care for me, including my small group of precious women. I think everybody needs someone in their corner rooting. In our present world, with far too much evil, it is almost a necessity. We all need people, who take the time to lend an ear, give a helping hand, and go the extra mile on occasion. Doing some quick research, I found that there are over four-million children being raised by grandparents, about thirty percent of children are being raised in single-parent homes, and about 400,000 children living in some form of foster care in the U.S.  Gracious! These kids and guardians need a cheerleader!

Be a Cheerleader for Someone

Look around! Pick a parent; pick a kid. Invest a few minutes each week. Send your child’s teacher the money for your child’s ice cream and enough for another child who might enjoy an extra special treat.  Regularly text a youth in your church who is going through a tough time. If you’re better with adults, drop a card in the mail to your neighbor, who is a single mom, or offer to pick up some groceries as you shop yourself. Give an extra smile to your colleague, who looks tired when you pass them in the hallway.

Several years ago, a lady walked up to me when I was in my hometown and I was standing with my sisters. I am sure I had met her when I was a little girl, but did not remember her. She began to tell us about how her dad. She shared about his drinking problem when he was alive in his adult years and how that problem had caused health issues in his later life. I looked at her with sympathy and smiled not really knowing her point, but she then shared one of the sweetest things. “Your mom, well, she would stop by my dad’s house sometimes with dinner and talk with him for a bit before she left. You will never know what that meant to him and to me. She (Mom) was such a kind lady.”

I just stood there amazed, learning of this situation. Smiling, I heard her words about Mom, knowing that she was not just a cheerleader to me, but to many. It made me realize how much our encouragement can mean to others.

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Snow Days -By Karla

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I have always loved a snow day, and growing up in Blue Ridge, Georgia, we had lots of them. Mom taught us how to prepare for hours of fun. Layer after layer.

  • Long johns
  • A couple of pairs of socks
  • Plastic baggies tied with a bread tie
  • A pair of jeans
  • A couple of T-shirts
  • Sweatshirt
  • Coat
  • Galoshes that had two little buttons and elastic loops to tighten them around your leg.
  • Gloves
  • Plastic baggies tied with a bread tie
  • Mittens
  • Toboggans with a tassel

“Let’s meet at the top of the hill at 10:00”

 

Most everyone in the neighborhood was laying up. The older kids would ride their wooden sleds down the steep road. When one slide down, he or she was the look out, to make sure no car was inching around the sharp curve at the bottom of the hill.

“Gail, get on your knees.”

My sister climbed on behind her friend. While she was on her knees, he sat on his bottom and steered the sled down the icy road with his feet. As they neared the bottom, one of the wooden slabs broke. They went slipping and sliding downward and swerved just enough not to go soaring off they ten foot drop off. As the older girls got tired of flying down the hill, they would move onto building a snowman. They had a system. The girls would begin the snowballs while the boys rolled the giant snow boulders back and forth across the yards. Their goal was simple: Build a snowman bigger than the one created during the last snowfall. I think their record was a twelve footer.

Up to six feet at times

My little sister, my best childhood friend, and I would grab our plastic sleds and begin. Having the label “you’re too young to go down that icy road” forced us to find a sweet spot on the snow covered grass. We slid until the fraction had caused some sprigs of grass poked through. Then we would scoot over a bit and start making a new slope. Over and over. Our goal was more simple than that of our older siblings: Slide so fast that we could not stop ourself from the flying off three-foot drop. Over the years, we reached that goal often as a present-day tailbone x-ray would have the show the proof needed to back up that claim.

The Routine

When we felt frost bite settling in, we knew the routine.

  • Stomp the snow off your boots
  • Strip down to the layer that is not wet
  • Come inside
  • Go directly to the dryer with your wet clothes and turn them on (so they would be ready when we were nice and toasty and refueled to go back outside
  • Put one something warm

Homemade hot chocolate was always simmering on the stove and filled the house with warmth. Mom would go back and forth from the kitchen to the living room carrying our mugs while we sat by the coil heater thawing out. Hearing the little sizzles and crackles from the kitchen, we knew our buttery popcorn was near.

Those magical words: Snow Day!

I think I will always love snow days. When I get wind that one might be drifting into town, I feel the excitement building. As a teacher, I have been called down a time or two when the realization that we might be leaving early develops. I probably deserved both times. Once we watched from the cafeteria as huge flakes cascaded outside the  glass-covered wall. I began dancing with my vice-principal! Then I heard my name over the microphone, “Mrs. Smedley, please calm down! I am trying to give instructions to the students.”

Another time, I got a bit carried away and gave a little hoop-n-holler in the hallway. Several teachers came out and asked me to please tone it down a bit. I just can’t help it. I love living in the South where the anticipation of snow is never a “hear it comes again” dread.

Every time the snow blows into town, I remember the sweet words of Mom. She never missed a snow day call. “Karla, remember God is giving you a snow day to slow down and enjoy family and fun times.”

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

Thanks, Mom, for the memories and the reminder.

-Karla

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Daddy’s Instructions: Really?! -By Donna

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Having taught second grade and under for over twenty years, I have come across only three books that make me cringe when a child says “read this one!” They are Rocking Horse Christmas, The Velveteen Rabbit and Love You Forever. Although I am not a crier, these stories bring tears to my eyes. The first two books produce a lump in my throat when I read the heart break the animals go through as they lose their human children. The third book, Love You Forever, by Robert Munsch, rips at my heart differently. It is the story of a mother and son as they age together. It reminds me that no matter how grown up I am, I am always someone’s child.

I experienced this first hand New Year’s Eve when I went to visit my Daddy. We decided to go to the store. I was driving and Daddy was in the passenger seat beside me. It was a rainy afternoon as we headed to town. Now at age 50, I’ve been driving for 34 years, but at age 77, he’s been my daddy for 50.

Driving Instructions

As I saw the traffic light, that was way ahead, turn to red, I heard, “Watch that red light. Start slowin’ down. It’s a rainin’ and these roads are slick.” I admit that I tend to drive fast, but today under these conditions I wasn’t at all. Instinctively, I obeyed. I began putting on the brakes way before I normally would have.

Further on down the road I started changing lanes. He reminded me, “Ease over, Donnie Boo. Now just get in the left lane.” Really? I thought. Is he telling me how to drive? Surely not. Pulling into the parking lot I could see multiple speed bumps ahead.  “Go slow over these. I don’t see why they need so many of these things. They’re hard on a car.” So I carefully glided over each one. It’s a good thing I didn’t zoom over them like I normally do, I thought.

After shopping, we returned to the car and I buckled up. As I turned my body around to back out, Daddy turned around also and instructing said, “Just back out kinda slow, a little at a time. There ya’ go. Cut the wheel real deep. Ya’ got it.”

I looked at my boys’ faces, who were both hiding a grin. Okay, he really is telling me how to drive! I thought. I could have remarked, “I know how to drive”, but all I could do was smile. My mind drifted back to age fifteen with a new learner’s permit, hot-rolled hair, Alabama’s “Feels so Right” cassette tape playing in the green Ford LTD… And I think so had he.

      I’ll love you forever, I’ll love you for always

                                   As long as I’m living, My baby you’ll be.

—Robert Munsch

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