Since it’s Mother’s Day, I would be remiss if I didn’t devote this week’s column to my Mother. Casually, I call her “Mom,” but when we’re one on one, it’s always “Mama.” It’s always been that way and will stay that way.

I don’t really know what all I can say that would properly convey my love and appreciation for her, so I’m just going to start listing things as they randomly pop into my head.

First and foremost, she gave birth to me (plus three ahead of me). I witnessed the birth of my kids, so I know that is no easy feat. She raised me, and from what the others say, that was no easy feat, either. She deserves major kudos for that.

She put Band-Aids on my skinned knees, doctored chigger bites and held me tightly as Dr. Julian Wood put stitches in my chin when I busted it open on the back steps of our house on North Roosevelt.

She made sure I was grounded in faith and rooted in the church. I had a drug problem when I was younger...I was “drug” to church every Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday night.

Even though there were times I didn’t want to go, I am extremely grateful for my Christian upbringing. She prayed for me regularly (and I’m willing to bet she still does). She was an example of service, as she, along with my Dad, taught Sunday School for many years at First Baptist Church in Seminole.

My parents opened our home to youth groups for activities countless times. She accompanied us on youth group trips to Six Flags and Falls Creek. She headed up a women’s group at church. She volunteered at the senior citizens center.

She put food on the table every day without fail. It was good, home-cooked, made from scratch food. We didn’t order pizza or go through the drive through like we tend to do today. She toiled in the kitchen. Breakfast was served at 7:30 a.m., lunch was promptly at noon, and dinner was at 5:15 sharp.

She kept the house squeaky clean. She did the laundry. She sewed patches on my jeans when I wore holes in the knees. She took me shopping when it was back to school time.

She didn’t mind when I had a yard full or even a houseful of friends over after school. Friends always felt welcome in our home and were often invited to stay for supper.

My mom put up with a bunch of budding musicians banging on drums and guitars at high volumes in my bedroom. She hauled me to little league practices, football games, band practices, to the swimming pool, and even loaded the car up with music gear so my band could play at school functions.

She helped me roll newspapers and stuff my paper bag so I could get my route done on time. She was a hard worker in her own right. In addition to working hard around the house, she worked for several different merchants around Seminole and sold Avon for many years.

She administered justice when it was necessary. She would swat me when I needed it, and then make me sit in my room “until your daddy comes home.” That was most often the worst part of the punishment.

She has a bit of an ornery streak in her. She always looks forward to April Fools Day, and spends the morning calling friends and family to pull some sort of prank.

I remember one year, during a July 4rth gathering at my grandparent’s farm, she started a water war with my aunts and uncles. It began with her dumping a bucket of water on her brother A.J.’s head, and if I recall correctly, it ended with them turning the water hose on each other.

After nearly 57 years, she’s never stopped worrying about me. The first thing she asks me when I pay her a visit at Avonlea Cottage is “did you eat?” She is a wonderful grandmother to my kids and my grandkids. She asks about each one of them just about every time we visit.

I could go on and on. I could write several more columns and still only scratch the surface of what she means to me. I don’t think we have enough paper in the Producer offices to print them all. Happy Mothers Day, Mama!