The Mum

My freshman year of high school. It was 1983. A time of leg warmers and ripped sweatshirts hanging off one shoulder. A time when every girl wanted to be “Like a Virgin” and every boy wanted to be a “Thriller.” A time of mullets, Swatch watches, and hoping that every guy who lip-synced in his underwear looked as sexy as Tom Cruise! And it was also a time when every girl in every high school in America wore a beautiful mum to school on the Friday of the Homecoming football game. And it better be a real one, too! No fake ones back then! Only the loser girls whose moms bought them one out of pity would be caught dead with one of those. That was something that no upstanding freshman girl would ever dream of doing. Except for this one.

So, back to my freshman year. I was at a brand new school in another brand new city. Making friends had become something that I was pretty good at since this was just another in a long string of schools that I had attended. However, in October of that fateful year, I had not started dating anyone yet and the homecoming football game was fast approaching. I had mentioned to my mom that having a mum to wear to school on that Friday was critical to the popularity issue. She knew I was upset about not having one, so she secretly arranged for one to be made for me – and when I say “made”, I mean it in the literal sense of the word.

I woke up that morning having already succumbed to the fact that I would not be jingling and jangling down the hallways of my school with streamers hanging down my blouse full of glittery names and declarations. I had even convinced myself that that would be SOOO cumbersome and that I was glad to not have to deal with it. And then I walked into the kitchen and saw the package sitting at the table next to my seat.

My mom was also sitting there with a huge grin on her face. “I’ve got a surprise for you!” she said. Not being one to turn my nose up to a gift, I excitedly sat down to open the box before me. My mom had a different plan.

“Before you open it, let me explain something to you. I found this lady,” (never a good start to a her explanations), “who does something really clever with mums! The florist gave me her name. I tried to go get you a real mum, but honey, they are so expensive! She told me about a lady that has been making mums that are a little... different.” (Another bad sign). “She has been really busy right now because of homecoming and all, but she had one extra that she sold me at a fraction of the price of a real one!”

Now let me back up a little here. We never had much growing up. Money was a tight squeeze every day. I’m talking about opening two cans for dinner – peas and beans. The thing about my mother, though, was that she made those two dinner items into a feast! I knew we were always short on money, but I never knew how bad it really was. My mother did her best to make sure that my teen years were as normal as possible, and it usually meant a sacrifice of some kind on her part. So, when she started talking about wanting to get me the all-important mum but at a lower price, I understood. But I was also quite curious.

As I lifted the top of the box, the beauty of what lay within became evident. It was a mum all right – a giant, white, crocheted mum complete with tons of streamers and cowbell janglers. Mixed emotions ran through my mind – shock, awe, appreciation for the skill involved, and repulsion at the ghetto effect this would have in comparison to the delicate white masterpieces worn by the other girls. I wasn’t exactly sure about how to react.

“Isn’t it cute?” she asked with apprehension oozing out from every syllable. I looked at her face. I knew at that moment I could crush her or make her day with my next breath. She had probably spent the money she was going to use to pay the cable bill on this creative atrocity. Most likely, she was thinking all along that I would no longer be the nerdy new girl roaming the halls of my high school. In her eyes I would be the ultra cool new girl with a mum like no other. I would stand out in the crowd and be noticed! I would be the talk of the school – a concept that she thought would be wonderful! I looked at the “mum” and then into her eyes.

With every ounce of teenage lying aptitude that I could muster, I said, “Mama, it’s beautiful. Thank you for making sure I had something to wear today.”

She beamed.

Well, needless to say, that was a pretty interesting day. By the time I left the house, she had convinced me that this mum was pretty cool and that everyone would want to know where I got it so they could get one too! Considering I had a closet full of clothes that I never wore that were bought with this same mentality, you would think I would have known better. Anyway, after receiving many disdainful stares from peers and teachers alike, I ditched it in my locker by 2nd period – only to pull it out again at the end of the day so I would be wearing it when she picked me up from school.

So what is the moral of this story you may ask? Well, when I think back to that day, I think of the word ‘sacrifice’. I sacrificed my impending popularity for yet another day by wearing this creation just to spare my mother’s feelings. I also sacrificed beauty so that I could look like every other girl walking around the halls with a flower on my chest. But my mom had been sacrificing her life for a lot longer, and always for my benefit. She had been making sure that I had as normal a life as possible, even though it meant that hers was not. Because of my mom’s sacrifices, I am the person that I am today.

So, when people say things like, “Kerri, that sounds like something your mother would do!” and expect me to be insulted by their remark, they get an unexpected reply from me.

“Thank you,” I tell them, “I couldn’t think of a nicer compliment.”