My mom is a great lady, but you don’t want to get on her bad side. The term “Hurricane Rosy” was coined about the time I was entering adolescence and had the misfortune of joining my mother on a trip to an electronics store with a radio that my sister had received as a gift and which had broken. The store employee had the audacity to inform my mom that the radio had not been purchased in the store and that he had no responsibility or inclination to fix the thing. That was a big mistake on his part. My sister and I saw the impending storm coming and retreated far into the store, taking cover behind a display of vacuum cleaners. What followed could best be described as a very loud, violent tirade about the vast amount of electronic stores in our area available to the public and the seeming ambivalence of this young man, who was representing not only this store, but our nation’s slow decline into a lazy, irresponsible, slothful people who were doomed to lives far below their God-given potentials.
I think the young cashier must have fled from the tempest, because an older man, possibly a manager or the owner arrived at the front lines, only to suffer the aftershocks of the initial assault. He fixed the radio. In fact he may have even given my mother a new one – which was a far less common practice back then “especially for products not purchased in the store!” The older man was wise enough to realize it was a small price to pay to keep the storm from inflicting further damage.
And that was not the only time her wrath was felt. The warning signs for foul weather usually had to do with injustice, bullying, narcissism and lack of respect or care for others. These were the conditions sure to herald in a storm. My mom refused to back down or surrender to such things. An extremely messy room or absence of attention to one’s chores might also herald in some strong gusts, but the full force of her power was reserved for those who, in truth, seemed to really have it coming. I doubt these unlucky souls had fair warning, because my mother is not a large, intimidating woman, nor does she appear to be capable of such destructive power at first glance. She is a woman normally given to laughter, and smiling, and a general happy disposition about the world and those around her. But the potential is there – ready and able.
And recently I was reminded of the poem and a message that my mother imparted to me during those early adolescent years. Part of the message was that sometimes you have to speak up to be heard. Especially by those people who seem to have their ears stuffed full of cotton. It seems that the road to self-improvement and higher awareness and an overall sense that all is well in the world is often described as being paved with a deep belief in acceptance for those things which seemingly cannot be changed. And sometimes that is true. But other times it is not. Sometimes even the most enlightened and spiritual people throughout history, those who devoted their lives to spiritual growth, refused to support or accept certain injustices or actions . Jesus tore up the market tables in the temple; Gandhi went to jail multiple times and used hunger strikes to protest unjust laws; Martin Luther King Jr. spoke up and acted out against ignorance, hatred and racism disguised as religious doctrine and societal laws. These men all continued to speak their truth against wrongs, and never surrendered or were silenced by the use of pressure or force. To me they define courage and strength. And so does my mom.
I have written before about the Serenity Prayer and why I think it is such a source of empowerment for so many people. Another similar writing is the Desiderata. Like the Serenity Prayer, the poem’s history is often confused and misreported by people. The Desiderata, which in Latin means “things to be desired,” came into the public spotlight after it was used by a reverend of St. Paul’s Church in Baltimore, Maryland in 1959 as the basis for a number of sermons and devotional materials for his congregation. The reverend reported that the prose had been written by an anonymous author when the church was formed in 1692, and based his statement on the fact that the copy he had discovered in the church’s archives was not signed and had the date 1692 on the top. The poem and its message quickly spread and would be widely recited and displayed during the anti-war demonstrations in the 1960’s.
It did not take long for the Ehrmann family to recognize and to point out this mistake. Max Ehrmann, a poet and lawyer from Indiana, had in fact, authored the Desiderata before his death in 1945. The events that took his words from Indiana to the church basement in Baltimore, Maryland remain a mystery, but Mr. Ehrmann is now recognized as the true and authentic creator of the Desiderata.
To me, the writing is a type of sequel to the Serenity Prayer. The challenge and work described in the Serenity Prayer focuses on internal matters – gaining wisdom and the inner recognition of things that one can change or not change. Sizing up each situation and person that comes about in one’s life in order to move towards spiritual growth and some semblance of inner peace of mind – a serenity of the spirit. In the Desiderata, the instructions are more focused on external matters – relationships with others and a code of behaviors with which to conduct one’s life. The simple, straightforward directions about the importance of listening, talking, and an effective pursuit of one’s life purpose are all wonderful, wise ways with which to deal with others in this world.
My mom came across the Desiderata when I was entering adolescence and seemed immediately drawn to it. If she had not fallen in love after high school and moved from Brooklyn to a small town in the foothills of the Adirondacks, she most likely would have been coordinating or somehow involved in various anti-something demonstrations in the 1960’s and 1970’s. She put off her collegiate aspirations until after my sister and I were born, at which point she returned to college as a mom – commuting in our large red station wagon, and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from a brown paper bag by herself rather than sitting in the dining hall and planning a march on Washington D.C. with other freedom fighters as she would have done if she had gone to college earlier. I’m grateful that she chose the domestic road, but I can’t help but think that the Vietnam War or other conflicts of the time might just have been avoided if a younger Hurricane Rosy had been unleashed on the policy makers of the time.
So I imagine that when my mom first read the words of the Desiderata they reminded her of who she is – of her values and beliefs and the behaviors that she values most in life. I am finding out now that as a parent and a “grown up” it is so easy to lose track of these things – these ingredients of our essence. Other things become more important – more urgent – there are other people to take care of and there is other work to be done and there are the other endless distractions and obligations that can easily send me floating further and further away from the personal definitions and values and actions that have been the core of who I am. I think this phenomena is common, especially among parents, because part of the sacrifice required to help others is to focus less on yourself. Mothers know this fact all to well. I know that mine does. I thought nothing of the fact that she went for those college courses every day when we were young and then became a full time elementary teacher as we got older. It also seemed normal that she would complete all of the trivial, necessary tasks around our house like keeping food in the place to feed us all, having the clothes cleaned and mended “she is an excellent seamstress,” and chasing around the constant trail of dirt, mess, and chaos left throughout the house in our wake. I see the sacrifices required to do all that now, because my wife does the same things, but it was completely invisible to me at the time.
So I imagine that the words of the Desiderata were not so much of a revelation to my mom, but a reminder of her own beliefs and values. I remember that she cut the poem out of whatever magazine it was in and put it on the refrigerator. I knew that she must have really liked it, because that space was reserved for sacred documents – report cards – art work – and reminders of dentist appointments. And I remember thinking that there was a depth to the writing, and to my mother, that maybe I had not recognized before. That perhaps she had some sort of life and interests beyond us kids, and her job, and the piles of laundry in the basement. And suddenly the seasons and conditions for the hurricanes became clear. I understood that the line: “As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all people,” described the challenging spiritual tipping point that we all are apt to face during this lifetime. Fight or flight. Speak up or remain silent. Acceptance or courage.
This week my mom will celebrate another birthday. She is headed back to her roots in NYC to do it in style. She knows how to spread such occasions out, enjoying and prolonging and savoring each moment of the many high points along this life journey. I do not expect to be able to express the love, and gratitude, and deep admiration I have for her with these trivial words, but she is one of the blessings I hold most dear in my life. She continually reminds me through words and actions that “with all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. We must strive to be happy.”
Happy Birthday Mom a.k.a. “Hurricane Rosy” – you continue to be a true force of nature!
Happy birthday Rose!
funny stuff…..the only woman tough enough to have given me a suppository!
Happy Birthday Mother!!!! May you have a joyous day!!!
Great blog , Brian, and so true as any one who knows her will attest.
All I can say is, You should have known MY mother. So many women of the 60’s, married early, and gave up dreams of their own. I was blessed with a family that totally suppored me in whatever goal I took on. They were my cheerleaders. You are right, I would have been with the freedom riders of the time. My true gift is my wonderful family. I only hope for you the joy I have in seeing the remarkable man and woman my children have become, and their wonderful spouses. That I have a place with their children and in their lives is the most joy filled birthday gift a person could have. This truly is a wonderful life.
Blessings to Rose and her wonderful Son.