Good Mothers Don't Grow on Trees

May 10, 1965

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky on the day after Mother's Day. Everybody always makes such a big deal out of Mother's Day. I guess that's good. Most mothers need a day when they are a big deal. But I don't much like Mother's Day. You see, not everybody has a good mother. I didn't.

   As Dad likes to say, good mothers don't grow on trees. They're made by God. I used to wonder if that was true how come God didn't make me a better one. My mother never liked me. I was a pest. Unwanted. A bother. She never hit me or anything like that. I used to wish she would since that would prove she knew I was there. But no. She just pretended I didn't exist. 

   Sometimes I wondered if I was invisible. And after I got over my mother wishing I was, I decided being invisible might be fun. That's when I started sneaking up close to people talking in the church yard after Sunday services to see if they would notice me eavesdropping. They hardly ever did, but unfortunately I was never invisible to Dad. I got into big time trouble with that eavesdropping stuff. 

   But even though my mother was the pits, I had a great grandmother. Mama Mae loved me. She wasn't in a big hurry to go to heaven, but I guess the Lord was in a hurry for her to get up there and start planting flowers for Him. She died planting tulips one year. So whenever I see tulips, I imagine Mama Mae smiling down from heaven on me. 

   Aunt Love took over for Mama Mae helping Dad out at the house and trying to make me behave. The two of us have had our rough spots, for sure. I don't exactly act the way Aunt Love thinks a preacher's daughter should. Maybe I don't. But Dad loves me anyway and Aunt Love and I mostly put up with one another. She doesn't hug my neck or anything but she does sometimes say something nice to me now and again. And I try really hard to not get on her nerves. She has enough problems with the forgetfulness without me messing with her nerves too. 

So everybody doesn't have a loving mother. Some mothers don't kiss their kids' skinned knees or teach them prayers at night or tucks them in at night. Some are like me with mothers who never wanted them and just don't like them all that much. What do we do on Mother's Day when everybody else is hugging moms and singing their praises? I guess I remember Mama Mae and think of her tulips. And sometimes I feel sorry for myself and cry.

On to the next episode of Bailey's Bug.

BAILEY'S BUG by Jocie Brooke
(Continued from last week)

CHAPTER 15

   The next morning, the big yellow monster bus roared down the street and woke Bailey. That meant Reid would be shooting out the door and down the walk. The bus would stop, open its door and swallow Reid up. It would be hours before it brought Reid back.
   Bailing jumped up and shook to get ready. He had to keep Reid from being swallowed by the bus. Instead he had to get him to follow Bailey back to Skelley and Lucinda.
   Bailey's throat got tight. The bus might be as hard to face down as the bulldozer. The monster bus was always blowing its horn if Reid was a second late coming out of the house. Bailey wouldn't have but a couple of minutes before Reid disappeared into the bus.
   If only Lucinda was there to tell him what to do. She'd know. Lucinda always knew.
   But she wasn't there and the bus was getting closer. Bailey stared at the front door of the house, ready to charge in front of Reid when he came outside. Just the thought of seeing Reid again made Bailey's tail do circles in spite of the bus coming.
   His tail lost its wag when the bus passed by the house without so much as slowing down. It didn't even honk. Bailey stared at the door behind him. Was he at the wrong house, after all? Bailey took a big sniff, and his tail started wagging again. Reid was there. He hadn't come out the door, but he was there, somewhere inside.
   Bailey couldn't wait a second longer. He banged his paws up against the door and barked for all he was worth. The door stayed closed. He ran around to the back of the house. That was how he had to go into the house. Through the back. He found the back door and jumped against it.
   He couldn't quit barking. His ears were ringing. Bailey didn't know the door was opening until Reid's mother was there, staring at him.
   The sight of Mrs. Alexander made Bailey bark even louder. He whipped his tail back and forth and hopped around the porch.
   Reid's mother didn't look happy. She looked mad. She stepped out the door and smacked Bailey right in the face with a towel. "Get away from here, you mangy mutt." She snapped the towel at him again. "Go on. Get!"
   Bailey looked behind him to see what she was chasing away. Nothing was there. She couldn't be intending to hit him with the towel. She couldn't be telling Bailey to get. He must have been making so much noise he hadn't heard her right.
   "I hear a dog, Mama."
   At the sound of Reid's voice, Bailey got so excited his barks were high, yipping sounds. Then Reid was right there in the door. Bailey tried to push past Mrs. Alexander to lick him. Mrs. Alexander swatted him across the eyes and started closing the door.
   "It's just an old stray. I don't know why he's carrying on so." Mrs. Alexander looked back at Bailey. "Get away, dog. Go on now."
   "He sounds like Bailey." Reid was at the door with his books and lunchbox. 
   "All dogs sound the same. Even strays."
   "I don't think so. Bailey sounds different. Sort of like this."
   Bailey barked louder and jumped even higher. Why couldn't they see it was him? 

(To be continued. To read the rest of the story just look for it up above.)

Miss Sally and Mother's Day

May 12, 1965

Jocie Brooke reporting from Holly County, Kentucky. Last week I was not too happy about Mother's Day. I don't really mind that my mother has never been a mother to me. If it had been up to her, she probably would have taken me in a basket and left me on some stranger's doorstep and never looked back with regret one time. 


But Dad wouldn't let her do that. He took on being my daddy and mama both. So all that just makes Mother's Day a little awkward. For other people more than me. They say Happy Mother's Day and then realize I don't have a mother to be happy about and they want to grab the words out of the air and stuff them back in their mouths. 

Anyway, that's why I didn't want to go to church, but Dad said I couldn't stay home. He needed me to pass out the flowers to all the mothers at church. And to Miss Sally and Aunt Love too.    

Miss Sally might feel about Mother's Day sort of the way I do because she never married or had any kids of her own. But Dad tells her she sort of mothers the whole church so that makes her the best kind of mother. One who loves people whether they're blood kin or not. 

And just look how happy Miss Sally was on Sunday when we gave the flower to Mrs. Williamson for being the oldest mother at church on Sunday. She's nearly ninety-two and always smiling without worrying about some of her teeth being gone. So everybody was happy she got the biggest geranium, but Miss Sally was happiest of all. She was the one who fixed up the flowers in pretty wrapping paper for all the mothers. I don't know what we'd do at church without Miss Sally.

I was glad it was our turn to go to Miss Sally's house for lunch on Sunday. She makes the best yeast rolls in the county and she never minds a bit if I pass up the green beans to save room for an extra roll or two. She just winks and passes me the butter while telling Aunt Love that I'll eat an extra portion of green beans next week. 

Aunt Love is about ten years older than Miss Sally, but they get along real good. Maybe because Aunt Love never married either. They like to sit in Miss Sally's living room and talk about things at church and how much everything has changed since they were girls. Aunt Love can still remember all that back when stuff. She just can't remember if she turned the stove on to cook something or not. 

Miss Sally doesn't have any memory problems. She's just the best person and so I made her a special card to celebrate her being so nice. Funny thing is, several of the other kids at church made her cards too. And Cassidy, you remember Cassidy, Noah's little sister, she sat by her in church. Miss Sally says she's blessed to have us loving her, but we're the ones blessed to have her loving us. 

Have you ever known somebody like Miss Sally in your church?    

Oh, and remember, you can still get that first Hollyhill book, Scent of Lilacs free on your e-readers - whatever that is.

When Mother's Day is Hard

May 5, 1965

Jocie Brooke reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky.

I found this poem in a church magazine at Miss Sally's house. She says it's a really sweet poem. She never had any babies of her own to rock, but she says she was blessed with many babies to hold at church. She said most mothers are glad to have somebody take over the rocking now and again and that this poem is true because it made her love every one of those babies when she held them and rocked them to sleep.

I don't think my mother ever rocked me to sleep. I asked Dad once if she did and he didn't want to answer me. You see, my mother never really wanted to be my mother. Daddy was always the one who took care of me even before Mama ran away from us. Daddy always said it was because she didn't like living in Hollyhill but I figure it was to get away from me and Dad too. 

I'm not mad about it or even very sad about it anymore. I'm used to it. But that doesn't make Mother's Day much fun for me. Everybody else at church and school are making cards for their mothers about how much they love them and how much their mothers have done for them. I never know what to do. You can't really make your dad a Mother's Day card and Aunt Love would faint dead away if I got all sugary sweet with her. Aunt Love and I have an interesting relationship, but I wouldn't call it any kind of relationship that calls for a Mother's Day card. And I can't make Leigh a card even if she wants to be my stepmother. She's more like another sister. You know, like Tabitha. 

Maybe I could make Tabitha a card for Stephen to give her. She's a good mama. And then, there's Miss Sally. I could make her a card too. Not a Mother's Day one, but a "you're a great friend" card. Or an "almost like a grandmother" card. I did have a sweet grandmother, Mama Mae, but she died when I was nine. I could make a card for her and just keep it in my memory book. That way I wouldn't feel so weird when everybody else is making cards for Mother's Day. But it would still be weird. 

I feel weird on Mother's Day but I just sort of smile and act like it doesn't bother me that everybody else has a mother who cooks dinner and makes them brush their teeth or whatever mothers do. 

If you know somebody who doesn't have a good mother, it might be nice to give them an extra hug this week. Don't heap a bunch of pity on them. Just a hug will show you understand that even though most people have great mothers, not everybody does. I didn't. But I do have the best father in the world and that make everything all right.