By Carol Lucas
Not long ago, I read something a friend posted on Facebook. Yes, I know — the good, the bad, and the ugly! But this was good, in fact, excellent. It was a tribute to the author’s mother who had gone back to college after several years to get her master’s degree, and it really struck a chord with me.
You see, my mother was also very much ahead of her time. Born in 1918 to parents who were quite poor, she was the middle of seven children. She often spoke of her French immigrant father’s work on the railroad, the tracks of which were very close to their house. Their home was small and cramped, and times were difficult.
It was during The Great Depression, and Pap’s work was spotty, in other words, day-to-day. When my Mom spoke of this, she added that the “type” of dinner on the table varied, depending upon how much work her Dad had been able to get. Yet she never seemed to be bitter about that part of her life, or if she was, she kept it well-hidden.
When my mother graduated from high school in 1936, she was awarded a one year scholarship to Penn State University at the branch campus in her hometown. At the end of that year, however, she was expected to find another way to pay for her tuition if she were to continue her education; her parents simply did not have the means.
Mom opted to drop out of school and go to a trade school to become a beautician, knowing in her heart that this was simply a stop gap until she could earn sufficient money to return and get her teaching degree.
My Mom was good, really good, at anything she tried, and this included being a beautician, although she often said later that she disliked every moment she was in the profession. Perhaps it was this dislike that pushed her to always keep her eye on the goal of becoming college-educated. I do remember, in later conversations, learning that she developed a growing clientele at her salon and earned a sizable income during the mid- 1940s and well into the following decade.
I was an only child for 13 years; then in 1955, my brother was born. I suspect that was a pivotal (read traumatic) time for my mother although I don’t remember her verbalizing such. My father, who was not a hands-on parent, was working full time as an electrician, and she was confronted with raising an infant, running a business and taking night classes at a nearby college. Add to that raising a teenage daughter.
To borrow from Thomas Paine, it must have truly been the time that “tries men’s souls” or in this case, a woman’s soul. My mother was working hard to attain a life-long goal, and the stumbling blocks didn’t appear to be dissipating. Retrospect tells me that I didn’t begin to appreciate how much she endured in order to make her dream a reality.
The year was 1960. I graduated from high school and was preparing to enter a small state college, ironically, the same school my Mom had attended for the past few years. Imagine being a freshman at the school where your Mom is a senior. Of course, she commuted while I was given the privilege of staying on campus. Again my recognition, as well as my gratitude of being afforded that, came with more maturity.
Mom was somewhat of an enigma on campus for there weren’t many adults attending at the time. She would drop in on occasion to see me at my dorm room, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t always appreciate that. Factor in the small size of the campus, and there were, indeed, times I wished I had chosen elsewhere to attend college. Another reason to contemplate what I see now as a bit of selfishness, for she may well have been living my college experience in the only way she could, vicariously.
My mother graduated from college with a degree in elementary education. She went on to get her master’s degree at Penn State University and lived for two summers on campus. I know she relished that experience. She eventually became a speech pathologist for all the schools in Jefferson County, and when I attended her retirement dinner, I saw just how highly regarded among her colleagues she was.
In January of 2018, my mother passed away, four months shy of her 100th birthday. Much transpired over those years. She had moved to South Carolina and remarried, settling in an assisted living facility in Summerville. I laughed and told her she had made full circle because she had moved from Summerville, Pa.
I have often told parts of the story of what I have written, but I never took the time to consign it to paper. In sifting through this information, I have been forced to look at something I already knew but, sadly, didn’t say often enough in a truly open way to my Mom. She was a human dynamo, a determined woman who set goals for herself and accomplished them.
She and I often went head to head on issues, some of which I determined I would never thrust upon my own daughters. I have come to realize that, even in this respect, she taught me lessons that served me well. One thing I do know is this: my Mom was a woman that I respected and loved immensely. If I didn’t make that abundantly clear, I intend to do so when we meet again.
So I conclude with a hearty thanks, not only to my mother, but also to my friend whose Facebook post nudged me in the direction of this article. And I wish all of those women who took on the monumental task of nurturing a very Happy Mother’s Day.
Carol Lucas is a retired high school teacher and a Lady’s Island resident. She is the author of the recently published “A Breath Away: One Woman’s Journey Through Widowhood.”
