Daughters

A Mother’s Day Message to My Daughters

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / Leave a comment

Mother’s Day, the traditional time, of year when children of all ages honor their mother through cards, flowers, or special dinners. Receiving such recognition is always a blessing and much appreciated, but on this Mother’s Day, I have something to say to my daughters.

The minute I realized your tiny heart was beating inside of me, my life changed forever, even my world looked different. Everything I did or hoped to do, from the clothes I bought to my career path, centered on the underlying anthem, how will this make my children’s lives better?

Almost thirty-eight years ago God blessed me with two precious daughters. It seems like only yesterday you were young and clingy, wanting mom to make it all better. Happy to wrap my arms around you, kiss your wounds and whisper, “Mommy’s here,” I admit I miss those days, but time stops for no one.

You’ve both grown into smart, strong, beautiful, and independent women, of whom I am very proud. And, although you don’t need, me as much as you once did to kiss away skinned knees or hurt feelings. On this Mother’s Day, I want you to remember I will always be here.

My sweet girls, being your mother brought me a lifetime of joy and has been the greatest honor of my life. Given the chance, I would do it all over again.

Lucky Kids

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / Leave a comment

It isn’t often I stop another man in public and offer him a compliment, especially when my husband is with me. But a few days ago, I witnessed something that impressed me and I couldn’t let the moment pass.

While shopping for a housewarming gift, I heard the unmistakable sound of merchandise tumbling from the shelf on the aisle next to me. Grateful it wasn’t me knocking things over,  I ignored the commotion until a blur rushed by. The next words and the tone of concern piqued my interest.

“Honey, are you all right?”

I peeked over the shelves in time to see a rather large man rush to the side of a young preteen girl. Her reply was too low for me to hear, but she looked relieved.

He patted her back. “It’s okay, nothing broke.” His voice was gentle. “Let me help you.” He knelt beside her and together they returned each item to its rightful place. He stood, smiled, gave her a reassuring pat on the back, and moved away, leaving her to shop on her own, once again. He left her with no words of reproach or caution to watch what she was doing. He headed in my direction to resume his own shopping as if nothing had happened.

I thought of the many times I’d witnessed other children in similar situations and the reaction of other parents. The small child smacked on their tiny hand, bottom, or jerked away from the store shelves for simply mimicking mommy. The angry and frustrated mother,”I told you not touch!”

The language changes as children grow but the reaction is often the same.”Get away from there. If you break that it’s coming out of your allowance. Do you think I’m made of money?”

Much like the economy, patience is running thin in families across our nation. Our society is in turmoil to the point we are now debating the meaning of family, but as I observed this stranger with his daughter it was clear to me this man was an active, involved father and he understood completely the meaning of family. He gave me hope.

“Excuse me, Sir,” I said. Replacing an item on the shelf, he turned to me.
“Yes?” His smile was warm and welcoming. Faint crows feet crinkled in curiosity, as he looked right at me. I could see why his daughter felt safe.

“I wanted to tell you how impressed I was with how you handled your daughter’s mishap a few minutes ago. So often, I see parents get angry with their children when something like that happens, but your first concern was for your daughter, not the merchandise. It was wonderful to witness such parental love and patience. He seemed surprised.

“Why thank you, but we have five children, we’re used to seeing lots of things get broken.” He chuckled.

“Well, I just thought you should know, you’re a great example for fathers.”

“Thank you. I do my best.”

“Lucky kids,” I said, walking away.

LOST VALUES

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 2 Comments

I’m in Washington DC visiting my daughter. Getting used to her new mode of transportation, the metro has been fascinating, interesting, and scary. The pace at which she and the throngs of people move are taxing on me. I’m not used to moving at lightening speed. My leg muscles and lungs are screaming, but I know if I don’t keep up, I’ll get stepped on, knocked about, left behind, or lost in the mob.

I’m amazed at the strapping young men who ignore the handicap and elderly as they board the crowded trains. Young men sit sprawled out on the seats unconcerned as people less fortunate with canes, crutches, aged or worse fight the crowd to board. Their arms often heavy laden with bags intertwined with devices meant to help them ambulate. Bent with age and disease, yet they do not complain. They s hold on to a pole or overhead bar and struggle to maintain their balance in the speeding train while young, strong, able-bodied, men sit by hog the seats and ignore them.

I had taken the last seat, sitting down beside a young just before the old man hobbled on board behind me. His head was covered in a makeshift white rag cap. He carried a dirty cloth bag draped over a cane aiding a leg so crippled he bent when he walked. He shifted his load and grabbing hold of the nearest bar two inches from a young couple moments before the train lurked into motion. I waited for one of the two young men to jump up and offer the old man, now teetering to maintain his balance, their seats. Surely, they would step forward and do the right thing. But, they didn’t.

I don’t know the old man’s age. Disease ages you, but I could have been those young men’s grandmother. I was tired, but I couldn’t sit there while that poor man struggled. I had two good legs.

I stood up. “Sir,” I pointed to the seat. “Please have a seat.” A look of relief washed over the old man’s face, and he hobbled to the seat.

“Thank you, Miss.” He smiled gratefully and plopped down, far more tired than I. The young man sitting beside him got off at the next stop, he asked me to sit down, and he told me how much he appreciated what I had done.

He shook his head in disappointment. “That young man should have offered his seat,” he said. He went on to explain he’d fixed dinner for his wife who was in the hospital and had gotten on the wrong train earlier. He was tired and flustered but hoped the doctor would let her come home tomorrow. We exited at the same stop, and I wished him and his wife well. I thought about the conversation, and life lesson’s those young men missed out on. I felt bad for them.

All of us are in a rat race these days. Everyone is caught up in either electronics or their own selfish agenda. But, I remember a time when parents taught consideration, compassion, empathy, respect and manners.

One day not too far in the future those young men will be old. They may be visited by ill health or accidents may leave them crippled or hobbled.We do not know what life holds in store for us. I hope for their sake when age or infirmity bends their bodies, someone will remember those lost values. But, from the looks of things, I witnessed I have my doubts.We reap what we sow.