The imagination of a child can be immeasurable in terms of creativity and energy level. According to my mom, mine was active to the point of exhaustion… in her, not me. It is a good thing that I was raised as an only child, so to speak. This was due to an age gap of 7 years between each of us three boys. Mom had to have been overwhelmed at times with me and my unlabeled ADD and hyperactivity. It took grade school roll call for me to learn that my real first name was actually Todd, not “you little bugger, stop that!”
Despite her fatigue and exasperation, I was her favorite. I know this because she told me so. I was her shadow both intentionally and sometimes reluctantly, even when there was no sunshine. She was my moon that orbited around and in me every day of the less than expected 33 years she accompanied me in this earthly realm.
Much of our time together was spent outside in the yard. I can still picture her hanging clothes on the line that ran from the basketball backboard pole, across the backyard to another pole that held a spotlight at the top. That illumination allowed me and my imaginary friends to play and shoot hoops well after the sun had set. One day, while she was occupied with clothespins, I crept up behind her while dangling a dead mouse I had found in the barn. I held it up high just behind her head and exclaimed, “Look what I found, Momma!” The speed at which she bolted for the house was athletic to say the least. I won’t write the words that came from her mouth in that instance.
An example of my imagination involves grass clippings. When the grass was extra long, the bagger on our mower did not always collect it completely. This meant raking up the leftovers to leave the lawn pristine. My way of helping (remember that I am only 4 or 5 years of age in this story) was to grab handfuls of the grass clippings and throw them over the fence onto our neighbor’s yard. To put some context on why I may have thought to do this, the neighbors back yard area had just been seeded and was not yet poking through the soil. My initiative was not done at Mom’s direction; her intent was to spread them on the garden as mulching fertilizer. Puzzled by my actions, she asked with a sense of redirection why I was doing that. “I’m helping their grass grow!” I happily responded.
My recall of this story is not from my own memory. It is from the way my mom told me about it many times over the years. She always laughed as she recalled my antics and obviously thought I was just the cutest little guy in the world. Maybe I was and maybe I wasn’t, but one thing I do know is that Mom took joy in my childhood. She was my biggest cheerleader and supporter. She was my first true love, and I was her last true object of adoration. She was like that backyard spotlight, ever shining on me to give me guidance and inspiration. Even if I couldn’t make grass grow by simply sprinkling the clippings on dirt, I bet she could! That’s how magically special she was to me.
My mom died with sadness and an ache in her heart… because of me. Hurtful verbal exchanges and business left unfinished that linger as emotional pain inside me, always seeking relief. Either by sweeping the gutters or paying tribute to her in these columns, I will spend the rest of my life attempting to make penance to her. I will dig and pull every weed on this property to make her happy again. If I could make grass magically grow on barren ground, I would do so…for her. If I could lasso her and pull her down from heaven to be with me now, I would. Happy Mother’s Day to Connie Jean Smith Thomas. I love you and say job well done in your calling as a mother, grandmother, and wife.
Todd Thomas was born and raised in Preston. He’s currently serving his fourth term on the Preston City Council and works full time as a physical therapist. He can be reached at toddt@prestonid.us.
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We welcome comments, however there are some guidelines:
Keep it Clean: Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexual language. Don't Threaten: Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated. Be Truthful: Don't lie about anyone or anything. Be Nice: No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading. Be Proactive: Report abusive posts and don’t engage with trolls. Share with Us: Tell us your personal accounts and the history behind articles.