I had the meanest mother in the whole world.  While
other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal,
eggs or toast.

When others had cokes and candy for
lunch, I had to eat a sandwich.  
As you can guess,
my supper was different than the other kids' also.

But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings.  My
sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.

My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all
times.   You'd think we were on a chain gang.  She had to
know who our friends were and where we were going.  
She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour,
that we be gone one hour or less
-- not one hour and one minute.

I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck
us.  Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did
as we pleased.  That poor belt was used more on our seats
than it was to hold up Daddy's pants.  Can you imagine
someone actually hitting a child
just because he disobeyed?

Now you can begin to see how mean she  really was.

We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath.  The
other kids always wore their clothes for days.  We
reached the height of insults because she made our
clothes herself, just to save money.  Why, oh why, did we have to
have a mother who made us feel different
from our friends?

The worst is yet to come.  We had to be in bed by nine
each night and up at eight the next morning.  We couldn't sleep
till noon like our friends.

So while they slept - my mother actually had the nerve to
break the child-labor law.  She made us work.  We had to
wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook, and all sorts of
cruel things.  I believe she laid awake at night thinking up
mean things to do to us.

She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the
whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us
- and it nearly did.

By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser,
and our life became even more unbearable.  None of this
tooting the horn of a car for us to come running.  She
embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and
friends come to the door to get us.  

If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she
checked on me to see if I were really there.  I never had
the chance to elope to Mexico.  That is if I'd had a
boyfriend to elope with.

I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the
mature age of 12 and 13, my old-fashioned mother
refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16.
Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school
function.  And that was maybe twice a year.

Through the years, things didn't improve a bit.  We
could not lie in bed; "sick" like our friends did, and miss
school.  If our friends had a toe-ache, a hang nail or
serious ailment, they could stay home from school.

Our marks in school had to be up to par.  Our friends'
report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for
passing, red for failing.  My mother being as different as
she was; would settle for nothing less than ugly black

As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us
was put to shame.  We were graduated from high school.  
With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and
demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure
of being a drop-out.

My mother was a complete failure as a mother.  Out
of four children, a couple of us attained some higher
education.  None of us have ever been arrested, divorced
or beaten his mate.   Each of my brothers served his
time in the service of this country.  
“The moment a child is born, the mother is also
born. She never existed before. The woman
existed, but the mother, never. A mother is
something absolutely new."

Regardless of your relationship with your parents,
you'll miss them when they're gone from your life.
And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we
things we missed.  We never got to march in a protest
parade; nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a
million and one other things that our friends did.

She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated,
honest adults.  Using this as a background, I am trying to
raise my three children.  I stand a little taller and I am
filled with pride when my children call me mean.

Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the
meanest mother in the whole world.
* From "One!The Journey hOMe", the eBook by Klaas Tuinman MA, ©2007-17
[1] -The Meanest Mother" written by Bobbie Pingaro (1967)
[3] Klaas Tuinman
MorningStar Inspirations
from Dawn Cove Abbey
Roadside assistance for your Journey through Life
The Meanest Mom In The World