I was awakened in the middle of the night with the direction, “Go get in the car.” With that, I got in the back seat of the old Buick and fell back to sleep. I remember my mom getting behind the wheel, but that is all. When we got to our destination, I was acutely aware that we were parked at a strange house in a town two hours away. I was also struck by the absence of my father. Separation—that is what they called it. It felt far less sanitized than the word sounds. My mom and dad had been having problems for a long time, and I was painfully conscious of the horrible fights.
In the new town, everything was a challenge. My new teacher didn’t like me and wanted me gone. The new kids were bullies who ganged up on me at every opportunity. I missed my dad. My mother was doing the best she could, but she only had so much strength and limited bandwidth while taking on long hours at a new job and suffering emotionally herself. I was lost.
There was a music teacher in the school. She was a hippy. She wore ankle-length cotton sundresses most days, complemented with leather sandals that had straps around her big toes. I remember her having red hair. She smoked, which I thought was against the rules for women. The other teachers hated her. I knew that because I often hid out in the halls and observed that she never went to the teachers’ lounge. She was an outcast too.
She was fully aware that I was failing literally all of my classes. Due to a stomach infection brought on by trauma, I was absent as much as I was present. When I was present, I wasn’t there. I liked her, but I never spoke to her. I never spoke to anyone. One day at music, she asked me if I wanted to walk home with her. I immediately said yes, but that was no compliment to her. I would take any opportunity to have a shield from the gang of boys who beat me up after school most days.
She was single and lived in an apartment a few blocks away. Her invitation would be labeled as inappropriate today, but it saved my life. When we got to her place, she poured me a Coke in a gold, misshapen glass that was common for the day (they came in green too). She began to teach me music—“Every good boy does fine”—a mnemonic device to learn musical notes. After a while, she said I had better head home, to which I silently arose. She said, “Eric, would you like to walk home with me tomorrow?” I gave her a one-word response, “yes.”
The rest of the year, she walked home with me. She didn’t take her little VW Bug to school again. Every day, she taught me all my subjects. More than that, every day she hugged me. She told me I was a smart kid and I could be whatever I wanted. She even played catch with me. When I won most of the events at the field day, she was the only one that cheered for me—and the only one that mattered. She talked to me about what I would do someday as an adult. And she was there—always. She did what my mother didn’t have the strength to do at the time. She stood in the gap. My mom came back around and my parents got back together, but I desperately needed my hippy.
Today, I praise God for moms—all sorts of moms. I’m grateful for birth moms who sacrifice every day. I’m appreciative of foster moms who weather the storm and refill hearts. I bring praise to those moms who give their name to kids who have nowhere to go. And I am beholden to a young woman who was my mom for just a little while.
Where would we be without moms of all sorts?
Blessings-
Eric
