Douglas T
The story as told to me, though probably apocryphal, was that my mother, being the busy mom to 3, piano teacher, activist, and feminist preacher, spied a mother moving into the neighborhood with “But one child” and into such a nice big house. “Surely she could take the youngest while I accomplish some shopping.” Thus decided I was handed off to Sharon with a “Here's the boy, he's Doug” and “is there anything you need from the store?” I don't remember that first meeting, but apparently I ended up there quite a bit thereafter. These two women, from vastly different sides of the tracks found that they had quite a bit in common, and if they disagreed, both innately understood the art of debate and took to each other immediately.
As the boys grew we mutually ate the mothers out of house and home: microwave quesadillas and peanut butter sandwiches at one, and health nut cookies and homemade chocolate Bundt cake at the other. But sometimes it was crab and artichokes at one while Yorkshire pudding at the other. Whatever it was the houses were filled with food and love. And while my mother encouraged her young man to grow to modern manhood through the study of music, dance, and reflection upon poetry, Sharon taught me to use tools, listen to classic rock, appreciate dogs, know the value in helping a neighbor paint a door, trim a lawn, move some firewood, hold a ladder..., you get the idea.
She also understood the value in careful criticism and development of character through practice. We were encouraged to play poker politely, shoot pool without getting (too) rowdy, cook for each other, and develop the manly skill of cooking on a grill. And, if either of us were to fail too much in these activities (lessons?) there were some carefully dropped words but nothing discouraging. I was late to learn to ride a bike and Scott was determined to get me on two wheels and gain a little independence. When the day finally came that I was up and steady, it was Sharon I told first.
In my mid-teens I lost my mother, and it was not good. My sister and I were away, and had to return hurriedly. The first people I saw upon returning home were Scott and Sharon. Though I'll never know if an oath was sworn between these two friends, I have no doubt that both knew that if either should ever pass, the other would step in. Sharon took on that roll, making sure I was well, checking in on me if I wasn't there on a regular basis (which was infrequent) and in a twist, asking me about those things she knew my mother held dear and important. I spent many a night crashed on an extra bed or playing pool into the morning while a tired Sharon peeked around the corner reminding us that maybe we could be a bit quieter and there was more beef jerky in the pantry upstairs.
And for the woman who once gave me 50 cents “to just keep quiet until we get back home” I have a last word, Thank You.
about 1 year
ago
