My Momma’s Greatest Gift

The other day I was having a coffee on the back deck with a friend. She asked me what I thought about Robert Kennedy Junior and I had to think for a moment. Because to be honest, I don’t think about him at all. Ever. I mean, I know he is Cheryl Hines husband and they met through my hero Larry David, but other than that I know what most people know. His first marriage scandals, his life as an environmentalist and his famous father. Her question actually brought me back to my youth and a book I read as a small child. It was about the Kennedy family and the curse that seemed to follow them. I was nine years old when I found the book on the coffee table and settled in to read. I don’t remember a lot other than Joe senior seemed to be a bit of a jerk. Their Momma Rose kept impeccable records of her children’s health history. Probably because there were so many of them. Joe junior was the golden child who was going to go far, and nobody ever thought John would be the one to become President. He was the weak Melvin Milquetoast of the family. As I was brought out of my musings I was reminded of my Mothers love of reading and how her example in our lives would bring a lifetime of joy and knowledge.

She came to Canada with no English, three young sons, very few belongings and her hero, my Dad. I remember the story Dad told about the first few words she learned. Shit was one she learned fast because she heard it often. They settled in the foothills of Alberta and Mom was exposed to many ranch hands. Thus began her English education. But readers digest was something that she was given by the man who sponsored my parents. She pored through those magazines daily teaching herself the words and then trying them out with my Dad and everyone she met. Dad came to Canada as a small child so he spoke excellent English. His family had gone back to Denmark when he was older but Canada was in his blood. Although Mom shared many stories about her childhood, I don’t recall her ever talking about reading. That was something that seemed to be from later in life. It may have begun with learning English but it became a passion throughout her life.

I remember when I was a teen. There was a spare room upstairs next to my parents bedroom. There was also a family TV room upstairs. Now, if my Mom picked up a book to read in the evening she often wouldn’t go to bed until she had finished the book. However when she did finally go to bed she would disturb my Dad. He grumbled about it a bit but rather than make her stop, he changed his behaviour. When he saw her becoming engrossed in a book, he went and slept in the spare room. Smart guy. Dad was a reader too but in a different way. Mom was voracious. She loved magazines, newspapers as well as books. She was passionate about current events although she seldom discussed things. She knew what she knew because she read and she was fascinated. And yet, it was my Dad that people thought was the smart guy. Sorry Dad, but we all know who we got our smarts from. It wasn’t because we were born that way. It was because she showed us the way through her actions.

I read one time that reading leads to intelligence. Yep, the nerdy book worms are the ones who have the knowledge. I have a niece who used to read encyclopedia’s when she was a child. Many found it to be odd, yet she is quite knowledgeable. About so many things. But she came by it honestly. Her Dad, my brother was a reader, but her Mom took it to a whole other level. She received a BA in History from the University of Lethbridge. That was where she first set her sights on my brother who was a clueless geek. I loved her stories about how she had friends alert her to his whereabouts so she could casually run into him. He didn’t have a prayer. Later after they were married (didn’t I tell you she was smart), she finished a degree in Library Science at the University of Alberta. Is it any wonder that her daughter, my niece, was on a quest throughout her life to gather knowledge. It is genetic I think. It was in her blood from both sides. While reading was encouraged, she developed her critical thinking skills on her own.

Reading isn’t just about entertainment. Children who are read to will often one day develop a love of reading. The more they read the better readers they become. Children are filled with the ideas they are raised with. Biases held by family and friends and community. Reading allows us to look beyond our world and views we hold. Once we are exposed to ideas that conflict with those we are taught, we can choose what to do with that information. We can dismiss it because it disagrees with our tightly held biases, or we can research further after identifying the biases. The first will keep us locked in our tiny little world view box. The second option, where we investigate differences, helps us to develop critical thinking skills. We don’t just absorb the information presented, or dismiss it outright. We question the material. Is it opinion or is it fact? Where is the proof? Who is the author and what are their qualifications? When we read with intention the results are quite different. We gain knowledge. But more than that we gain the ability to focus on writing that is longer than an instagram post. I am ADHD but I can hyper focus. It is a thing we do. Once I get something in my head I won’t drop it until I have satisfied my need to know as much as I can. To quote Adrian Monk, “It’s a gift and a curse.”

Years ago, two different people, in separate circumstances yet a few days apart, told my brother he had moxie. Now he wasn’t sure of the meaning and as he told my Mother the story, he asked if she knew what it meant. He was surprised that she did indeed know exactly what it meant. I think that was the day he realized how well informed our mother was about random things. Her vocabulary was extensive but her accent kept her from being outspoken. She was uncomfortable and found it easier to fly under the radar. And for the record, my brother did indeed have moxie. He was confident and self assured. He had a way about him. He was the cool guy who just pushed forward and plowed a path in life. People were drawn to him. He did indeed have Moxie.

My hubby was a Natural Gas Marketer. His company had extensive holdings in BC. I remember the day my Mom, who was in her early eighties, was sitting reading in our TV room as my husband watched the news. There was a piece about LNG’s (liquified natural gas) and my mother dropped the paper and turned to husband asking about his companies involvement up in Kitimat. Now keep in mind my husband retired almost fourteen years ago. The LNG facility that everyone has heard of in northern BC, was only a dream when she was asking about it. As my mother and husband chatted he became more and more interested in her views. Later on he told me he couldn’t believe the depth of her knowledge into something many weren’t even aware of. “How does she know so much?” he asked me. “She reads.” I replied.

The internet and social media have changed our world. Communication has never been so advanced and yet, so many have nothing to communicate. As with any new technology that brings positive aspects to our lives, dualism insists on negative aspects to follow. It’s like the invention of the automatic washing machine. The housewives dream. Her time doing chores cut down so far that she would have so much free time. And yet, this time saving device has created a mountain of problems. Or should I say mountains of laundry. We buy more clothes and wear them once. So we do more laundry. Not only does fast fashion use more resources and create more garbage, we use more water and energy and time to do massive amounts of laundry. Such is the cost of social media. Although there is access to more information, the amount of disinformation is ridiculous. Due to the sheer amount of information we are overloaded and anxiety ridden. Therefore we tune out and as our attention span wanes, information bites become shorter and shorter. We receive our “news” in 15 second blurbs. Anything more and we are bored. Our attention span is so short that we can’t even read an entire news article. Reading skills are declining and along with it is the ability for the general population to think in a critical fashion. We are so bored and yet we allow others to spoon feed us our views. Or should I say, their views.

Today as I was perusing articles about the upcoming federal election here in Canada. I laughed out loud as I read one article about Justin Trudeau. There were statistics here there and everywhere regarding his personal wealth, all the while alluding to wrongdoing and corruption. Something Canadians should be insisting on investigating. After all he did place his personal holdings into a blind trust when he became Prime Minister. Something Mark Carney is also doing. The outrage is palpable with conservatives. As I read the article I scanned initially for source credibility. You know like when we were kids and had to provide a bibliography at the back of any papers we wrote. Showing where we got our information. There were no sources, therefore I immediately saw the piece as an opinion paper. The amount of information used to come up with Trudeau’s wealth was huge. Not to say correct, but lots of numbers and repetition. Now I could see the age of the article by the amount that was quoted for the Prime Ministers salary. This is what I mean by critical thinking. No only was I able to ascertain the source and bias of the wrier, I was able to dig deep to find proof of the content. Some was correct, some was nonsense and some was skewed in order to sway the reader. You know what they say about false narratives. There are lies, damned lies and statistics. Mark Twain made that popular but the original speaker is unknown and much debated. Yet the statement is true. Statistics can be manipulated to make our point. Is it lying? Or is it smart? I guess that depends on who you ask.

I will be forever grateful to my mothers influence. As a young child I was so jealous of my older siblings and I wanted nothing more than to be able to pick up a book and find the magic within it pages. In my declining years I still feel the same old thrill as I reread my childhood favourites. I only have one Nero Wolfe book left before I am forced to move on. I have pulled out The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck, A favourite of my Moms. It brings back the memories not just of the first time I read it, but what our life was during that time. Where we lived, Mom handing me the book, where I used to sit and read. I can see the room, I can feel the comfort of home. My daughter recently showed me her copy of Wuthering heights that she was rereading. I laughed as I thought of my first time. I wasn’t even ten years old yet and somehow my mother thought a book about class differences, abuse, lost love, revenge and death, was something I should read. It was a tough go but it pleased Mom to share not just books, but classics. It took a few more readings to really understand the story and the time it portrayed. But I understand why it was important to my Mother. Just as it melted my heart that my daughter was rereading such a treasured story.

Now I am on the hunt for a lost treasure from my childhood. Riki Tiki Tavi. It wasn’t my book but it was in the house. I believe it belonged to my twin brothers. My Mom always wrote in books so we knew when and where they were given. This was a beautiful story by Rudyard Kipling and I would love to share it with my Grandkids. Because reading evokes such strong memories and emotions. It teaches you about a world outside your familiar front door. It sparks your imagination and brings joy. It feeds passions and it creates ideas in young minds which help them forge a path forward in life. A mindset that everything that is right in the world is within their grasp. They will never be exploited or used because they have magic. They have books. And no matter how many people want to ban the written word, it only fuels the desire for those books. Fahrenheit 451. By Ray Bradbury. I highly recommend. Because the one big think I have learned in my life is that although Lord Byron is correct, truth is often stranger than fiction, fiction has shown to often be almost prophetic. And frankly, to use another cliche, forewarned is forearmed. Even if the warning comes from a writers imagination.