I grew up in an area on Lake Michigan called “The Patch.” This part of the city was very sandy and the lawn grass did not grow very well. In this little parcel of land, they call them cul-de-sacs now, was a private sanctuary. With the houses facing a large open field, I felt safe playing outside well after sunset because everybody kept an eye out, especially for the youngsters.
We lived only minutes away from the lake and would go there everyday during the summer. We’d spend the whole day swimming and playing on the beach with nothing but a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. In the evenings, we’d walk home tired and barely able to finish dinner, ready to pop off to bed since there wasn’t much interest in TV.
I love my sisters and brothers because they each taught me something. There were twelve of us altogether, and as we grew up, we began to spread throughout the US. Never the less, we now make a point to all get together for mother’s day to catch up and compare accomplishments.
In addition to the frequent mailing, calling, and internet contacts among us, our Mother’s Day tradition is like Christmas in May.