[Congressional Record Volume 147, Number 64 (Thursday, May 10, 2001)]
[Senate]
[Pages S4813-S4814]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
MOTHER'S DAY
Mr. BYRD. Mr. President, this Sunday is Mother's Day. In an annual
tribute as old as the holiday itself, all across America, families will
demonstrate just how essential mothers are to the smooth functioning of
our families. How will they do this? They will serve mother breakfast
in bed. Youngsters will rise early and attempt to sneak past their
sleeping mother to reach the kitchen undetected. And despite the
keenness of a mother's hearing--just ask any teenager who has been
caught coming in too late how keen it is--a mother's soft heart will
keep her breathing even and her eyes gently shut as this stealth attack
on her kitchen is made. Toast will be burnt, eggs--well, they will be
runny, coffee may be the consistency of tar, and the flowers freshly
plucked from the prized beds outside the window may be presented in a
juice glass because no one knows in what dark cupboard mother hides her
nice vases.
Why are these mealtime disasters met by smiles and nods of
recognition? Simply because mothers do their many jobs so well. Day
after day, week after week, month after month, the meals get cooked,
the dishes done, the laundry folded, the house cleaned up, in a never-
ending routine performed by loving, busy, efficient hands--mother's
hands. Despite all the changes in American families, it is still the
mother, whether or not she also works outside the home, who does most
of the household chores. So, when other family members, particularly
the younger ones, attempt to take over mom's role for even one meal,
their inexperience shows, highlighting in its comedy mom's effortless
mastery of her crowded schedule.
Children who do not attempt to serve mother breakfast in bed may
instead make reservations for brunch. That's another Mother's Day
tradition. And on this day, long distance telephone circuits will be
busier than usual. Florists, too, will be working overtime to deliver
flowers, just as the postman will have carried more flowery cards and
calorie-laden packages of sweets than bills in the leather bag slung
over his shoulder.
Mothers deserve far more recognition and far more applause than can
be delivered on just one day. Even women who are not mothers in the
traditional sense exercise their inborn mothering skills all around
us--the co-worker whose desk serves as the office pharmacy for
headaches, colds, and just plain sympathy--these coworkers are mothers.
The neighbor who picks up the mail and newspapers when we are out of
town, and who we know is watching over our house while we are away,
these are mothers, really. The woman who feeds stray animals and
birds--those women are mothers. Without them, we could not function and
society would fray and tear just a bit more.
Even in a world of automated teller machines and on-line banking, one
still needs to know how to multiply and divide in one's head to be sure
that the bank has not made a mistake in one's account. One still needs
to be able to think, to analyze, to cogitate, to compute. It does not
all need to be done in some glitzy new way in order to be effective.
There is still a place for the tried and true, even for rote
memorization. After all, what child does not learn the alphabet by
memorizing the alphabet song? Of course, that simple tune was likely
not taught by a teacher in a school but by a mother, perhaps in a
nursery, using the same melody line as ``Twinkle, Twinkle, Little
Star.''
All parents are teachers, by deed as well as by example. When a
mother and child bake cookies together, that mother effortlessly
includes lessons in mathematics, chemistry, and reading, in addition to
teaching order and discipline. And what sweeter way to take those
lessons than by reading and following a spotted and time-worn family
recipe, measuring out a half of a teaspoon of salt or a tablespoon and
a half of vanilla, adding ingredients in the proper order and mixing
long enough but not too long, then dropping even rows of dough on a
baking sheet and waiting for the edges to crisp and turn brown. Taken
separately, flour and egg, spices and chocolate, do not look especially
mouth-watering, perhaps. But is there anything more sublime than warm
chocolate chip cookies still tender from the oven, washed down with a
glass of icy cold milk? ``Ah, how sweet it is,'' and Jackie Gleason
used to say. Not when you are 10 years old, I suspect. Perhaps not
ever. Those are the lessons, and the memories, that mothers give us
every day.
We learn life's essential lessons at our mother's side. They may not
be life's greatest lessons, yet they may be. They may not be earth
shattering new inventions may result, no cosmos-clarifying theorem be
inspired--but they are essential nonetheless. When mothers read stories
at night, and when they wash grimy hands and smeared faces, when they
nag children to pick up their toys and put away the clean laundry, when
they scold children for not sharing with a playmate or for perhaps
hitting a playmate, they teach more than reading, more than
cleanliness, more than tidiness, more than manners: they teach love.
They teach respect for themselves, for oneself, and for others. These
are lessons that last a lifetime. They are ingrained. They are what we
teach our children. They are how we live our lives. Mothers--they are
what make society work. Even as adults, in times of trouble, we may
seek solace in a prayer learned in the dim bedrooms of an earlier time,
when our mother's voice led us in ``Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray
the Lord my soul to keep.''
For all that mothers have to do each day, for all the lessons they
teach, setting aside one day each year to honor them is but a small
down payment on the debt of love and gratitude that we owe. My own
angel mother, having died when I was just a year old, left no memories
for me.
But to her, that angel mother whose prayers have followed me in all
the days of my years, and to the kind
[[Page S4814]]
woman, my aunt, who took me to raise as her own, I say on this day:
Thank you. Thank you. I know--I know that they hear. They are in heaven
today. And to my wife Erma, to whom I shall be married 64 years, 3
weeks from this past Tuesday, she has mothered me, too, my wife Erma,
and she has continued my raising since I met her in the schoolyard long
ago. To my wife Erma, who raised my two precious daughters to be the
strong and resourceful women and mothers that they are, I say a
heartfelt, ``Thank you!'' I have been in good hands, and I am grateful
on this Mother's Day and every day. And to all the mothers in America
who work so hard each day to keep our lives orderly and well fed, and
who remind and nag and scold and coach and encourage and hug and mold
their children into happy, loving, responsible people, I say on behalf
of all mothers, ``Thank you!'' ``Thank you'', mothers.
Mr. President, I would like to close with a poem that I learned a
long time ago, and which illustrates nicely that combination of
education that mothers provide, both practical and spiritual.
I want to dedicate it to our pages today, these fine young people.
They are all juniors in high school. They will be calling their
mothers, I will bet.
It is called ``A Pinch of This, A Pinch of That.''
Have you ever heard that said, ``a pinch of this, a pinch of that''?
When Mother used to mix the dough,
Or make a batter long ago;
When I was only table high,
I used to like just standing by
And watching her, for all the while,
She'd sing a little, maybe smile,
And talk to me and tell me--What?
Well, things I never have forgot.
I'd ask her how to make a cake.
``Well, first,'' she'd say, ``Some sugar take
Some butter and an egg or two,
Some flour and milk, you always do,
And then put in, to make it good--''
This part I never understood
And often use to wonder at--
``A pinch of this, a pinch of that.''
And then, she'd say, ``my little son,
When you grow up, when childhood's done,
And mother may be far away,
Then just remember what I say,
For life's a whole lot like a cake;
Yes, life's a thing you have to make--
Much like a cake, or pie, or bread;
You'll find it so,'' my Mother said.
I did not understand her then,
But how her words come back again;
Before my eyes my life appears
A life of laughter and of tears,
For both the bitter and the sweet
Have made this life of mine complete--
The things I have, the things I miss,
A pinch of that, a pinch of this.
And, now I think I know the way
To make a life as she would say:
``Put in the wealth to serve your needs,
But don't leave out the lovely deeds;
Put in great things you mean to do,
And don't leave out the good and true.
Put in, whatever you are at,
A pinch of this, a pinch of that.''
Mr. President, I yield the floor.
The PRESIDING OFFICER. I thank the Senator from West Virginia for
speaking on behalf of all the Senators and all the people in America.
Mr. BYRD. Mr. President, I thank the Chair. I suggest the absence of
a quorum.
The PRESIDING OFFICER. The clerk will call the roll.
The legislative clerk proceeded to call the roll.
Mr. BENNETT. Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the order
for the quorum call be rescinded.
The PRESIDING OFFICER. Without objection, it is so ordered.
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