[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 147 (2001), Part 6]
[Senate]
[Pages 7870-7871]
[From the U.S. 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.''

[[Page 7871]]

  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 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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