Remembering Mama and Daddy’s rules to live by

By Lois Eckhardt
Posted 12/7/21

At various times throughout the years, there will always be certain things that will cause us to think back in time to those whom we have known and want to remember. Sometimes the memories are happy, …

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Remembering Mama and Daddy’s rules to live by

Posted

At various times throughout the years, there will always be certain things that will cause us to think back in time to those whom we have known and want to remember. Sometimes the memories are happy, sometimes they are not. And, sometimes they are funny, even amusing to the extent that we have to laugh at how crazy they may have been or seem to have been, when now recalled.

That is where I find myself. I am also sure Mom would not like what I’m about to reveal, but she was the one who was always telling me: “Tell the truth.”

So…if I don’t reveal my lingering memory now about one of her and Daddy’s steadfast habits there may never be another useful time or place for it to happen.

I’m talking about their particular work-related habits. They were of two completely different disciplines. I say “they were” because, obviously, they are no longer here to dispute their very-old daughter’s diverse adaptation of their rules.

My version is perhaps better described as a mixture of their opposing, loosely accepted practices: (Daddy’s rules) do-it-now and do-it-right and (Mama’s rules) do-it-later, when-and-if-it’s-really-necessary.

Daddy was prone to grabbing the kitchen broom from my 10-year-old ‘inept hands (his opinion) and demonstrating quite vigorously how to sweep the floor correctly.

Included would be his lengthy instructions on how to reach under and around everything. I would always eagerly let him, no problem — in quickly observing the distinct advantages of letting him show me… until the next time, of course.

He was what one might have described as a fussy “neat-nick”. But being a carpenter by trade he was used to always cleaning up his workplace: hanging the tool apron on his hammer, which was always hooked securely on a nail.

A close neighbor once opined that if a tree dared drop a leaf or a twig in our yard my daddy would see it coming and catch it before it hit the ground.

I think “probably not”, but I did see him once stop a huge rolling limb from bouncing into his tool shed. He did get roughed up a little.

Mama, on the other hand, could easily ‘overlook’ discarded wads of my schoolwork or other unclaimed items languishing beneath nearby table or chairs, and were usually destined to be retrieved later, if noticed. Dust probably did activate the daddy’s rule.

Today, I am occasionally accused (depending on the viewer’s opinion) of mimicking my parents’ habits. But now I call them a “matter of choice”.

Once considered gender-specific measures, they have been blended into being everybody’s generally accepted attitude of “what works, works.”

Therein also lies an understanding that not only does “telling the truth” matter, so does the equaling value of “doing what works”.