Tribute to Mom

Sweet sixteen and I drove my own 1955 Chevy, not a classic then but maturing, not as shiny as this; but it was all mine. I drove it to school. After school, my job was to care for my 6-year-old brother Jeffery. This was not time I was permitted to drive my car, but I wanted to take my girlfriend Linda for a ride. I transported my brother to our grandmother’s house. He was happy. Grandma was always willing to watch him. I drove to Linda’s home. I took her for a ride in my 1955 Chevrolet. The plot thickens.

A steady rain had soaked the autumn leaves strewn on a little a road called Eleanor in Toledo, Ohio. A driver in front of me with her right turn signal blinking stopped her car before making her right turn. She stopped unexpectedly to correct her children in the backseat. I put on the breaks, but I crashed into the rear end of her car slightly denting her bumper and smashing my right front fender. Alas!

Linda called her father to come and pick her up. I drove my car home and parked it far away where my mother wouldn’t see it until after I had opportunity to tell her what had happened. I was ashamed that I had disobeyed and smashed my beautiful car. The place was dark. My mom was not home. My sister was not home. My brother was still with our grandmother. I left the lights off. The awfulness of the situation seemed to hover over me like a shroud until tears began streaming down my face. What had I done?

I was sitting at the end of a hallway crunched into a little ball weeping when my mother opened the door and heard my sobs emanating from somewhere in the dark rooms. She flipped on the light.

Here’s where I have to mention that I was not the only one to overreact in this situation. My mother, bless her heart, assumed when she saw me so terribly upset that something dreadful had happened. She began to weep! She kept repeating this one question:

“Where is he? Where is he? Where is he,” but I failed to answer still engulfed in my personal grief.

After the third or fourth frantic rehearsal of the question, it seeped into my consciousness and I responded: “Where is who?”

She answered back through her tears: “Jeffery! Your brother! Where is he?”

“Jeffery is at Grandma’s house,” I said.

“He isn’t dead?”


Here is the whole reason for my story. I deserved to be punished for my disobedience, but instead, I was rewarded. Why? Because my mother was happy. She was happy because my brother was alive and I was alive.

“Get up, Carol,” she said. “I’m taking you out for a hamburger. We’re going to celebrate.”

We went to the local hamburger joint to enjoy a meal. While we were waiting for our order to come, I said, “What about my car? I ruined it.”

“Money can fix your fender, but money cannot replace you or Jeffery. Don’t you know that I love you both more than money?”

Was I not blessed with a sweet mother?

About Carol Ann Ritchey

Life is good because God is good.
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12 Responses to Tribute to Mom

  1. buttercup600 says:

    Wow, goose bumps reading this Carol, so true those words of your mother, she was a wise woman…to me the moral of the story also holds the fact that we fret about the littlest things in life…there is a much bigger picture at the end of the day!! Loved it and loved the Chevy!!!! Thanks for sharing my special friend xxx


    • Greetings Amanda. Thank you for your comments and for stopping by. I was blessed with a good mom. Yes, there is a much bigger picture at the end of a day to keep us from fretting over the small stuff. I agree with you. Blessings to you…


  2. Liza Kane says:

    This is such a sweet story! Thanks for sharing! ^_^


  3. Trisha says:

    she is awesome, an angel. just like you. what a cute experience, that is cute ending of a sad experience.

    full of sweetness and warmth. you are a splendid writer and human being.


  4. Such a great story, Carol Ann! You will have to follow up with Jeffery’s story of his own early car crash as a teenager, and how he made the police take him home and break the news to your mother, because he was sure she would be furious.


  5. Jingle says:

    happiness and sadness come together all the time…
    Many thanks for sharing!


  6. Bonnie says:

    Yes you were blessed with a sweet mother… and she so obviously passed those same kind gentle qualities down to her daughter. 🙂 No one can ever take the place of our dear mothers.


    • Yes, mothers are precious. My mother died with cancer at the young age of 46. I still miss her very much and it seems only a few years ago, but it was many. I was a young mother at the time. Thank you for your kind comment, Bonnie.


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