I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids' also. But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did. My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less--not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy's pants. Can you imagine someone actualy hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was. We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends? The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn't sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us. She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did. By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I'd had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year. Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends' report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks. As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out. My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You're right, our mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did. She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults. Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean. Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.
barina said
01:13 AM May 10, 2012
Love this poem, I had one and was one....
aussietraveller said
06:01 AM May 12, 2012
That sounds just like my mum, THANKS MUM I have now raised a son and daughter of whom I am extremely proud having used the same nasty principals as my mum taught me.
The world needs more mean mums
Evie n Rhys said
03:50 PM May 12, 2012
Amen to that. There should be more of us I feel. I can see that thankfully my daughters are both following the trend and I'm delighted. Happy Mean Mothers Day to all you mums.
neilnruth said
01:00 AM May 13, 2012
And our kids are doing the same too.
barina said
01:50 AM May 13, 2012
Funny isn't it my daughter who complains long and loud about her childhood..................... is now starting to get mean with 4yr old girl...I just smile and say "Mmmmmmmm"
Travel Bug said
02:02 AM May 13, 2012
I was another mean Mum... I actually thought that I held the title of "The Meanest Mother" until I read this post. It sure paid dividends though as I couldn't be prouder of my 4 grown children.
The part that amuses me is that when I am visiting my family, I often hear one of my children chastising the grandies by saying the same very "mean" things that I used to say to them.
ibbo said
02:06 AM May 13, 2012
barina wrote:
Love this poem, I had one and was one....
Gee Barina,I had one as well,we are the luckiest kids in the World.Lol
barina said
02:50 AM May 13, 2012
Well I hope all the MEAN MUM's have a great mothers day....I will even though I miss my mum terribly ( 5yrs now)................she also was proud of her mean mum title....I have a daughter and son and 1 charming 4yr old grandaughter......
Cruising Granny said
04:47 AM May 13, 2012
I don't remember my mum. She was 25, it was 1955, and I was 4.5 yrs. My grandmother did it, and very firm. I sometimes wonder if she was mean to me to make up for what she failed to achieve with my mum. I felt raised and disciplined, but I never really felt loved. I tried not to do that to my 3 daughters, but according to my wayward youngest 30 year old believes I'm the worst mum because I don't love her conditionally, no matter what she does, what she says. While I love all my girls and my grandchildren, they are all different, and the youngest is really not the child I gave birth to and raised. I still love the daughter I gave birth to. It took a lot of counselling and rationalising to come to that conclusion.
Happy Mum's Day all you girls out there.
Esmeralda said
08:52 PM May 13, 2012
Had one of those myself - but she has mellowed over the years - and I still love her to bits (she was 83 last month) and spent the day with her yesterday. By the way dad was jus as mean and he too has mellowed as time's gone by.
Cruising Granny said
04:45 AM May 14, 2012
No one lived long enough to prove my suspicions wrong. Pity, but the feelings still remain.
"The Meanest Mother"
I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids' also.
But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings. My sister and two
brothers had the same mean mother as I did.
My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less--not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy's pants. Can you imagine someone actualy hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was.
We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends?
The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night
and up at eight the next morning. We couldn't sleep till noon like our
friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.
She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and
nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did.
By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I'd had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.
Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not lie
in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends
had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home
from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends'
report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for
failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for
nothing less than ugly black marks.
As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put
to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.
My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four
children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us
have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of my
brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You're right, our mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did.
She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults.
Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three
children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my
children call me mean.
Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.
That sounds just like my mum, THANKS MUM I have now raised a son and daughter of whom I am extremely proud having used the same nasty principals as my mum taught me.
The world needs more mean mums
Happy Mean Mothers Day to all you mums.
I was another mean Mum...
I actually thought that I held the title of "The Meanest Mother" until I read this post.
It sure paid dividends though as I couldn't be prouder of my 4 grown children.
The part that amuses me is that when I am visiting my family, I often hear one of my children chastising the grandies by saying the same very "mean" things that I used to say to them.
My grandmother did it, and very firm. I sometimes wonder if she was mean to me to make up for what she failed to achieve with my mum. I felt raised and disciplined, but I never really felt loved.
I tried not to do that to my 3 daughters, but according to my wayward youngest 30 year old believes I'm the worst mum because I don't love her conditionally, no matter what she does, what she says.
While I love all my girls and my grandchildren, they are all different, and the youngest is really not the child I gave birth to and raised.
I still love the daughter I gave birth to.
It took a lot of counselling and rationalising to come to that conclusion.
Happy Mum's Day all you girls out there.
Had one of those myself - but she has mellowed over the years - and I still love her to bits (she was 83 last month) and spent the day with her yesterday. By the way dad was jus as mean and he too has mellowed as time's gone by.