She was mean, perhaps too mean, but also very tough-skinned when one of her offspring exclaimed, "You are a wicked woman!" Growing up, she lived 2 miles from her elementary school, wore dresses to school and walked bare-legged through the snow to class. Favorite memories included wading in icy puddles just deep enough for the water to crest the top of her galoshes, walking of the top of iced-over snowfall and counting how many steps could be taken before falling through, and running like mad when the abominable snowman was lurking on Mount Timpanogos (thanks to a great story-telling big sister.) Maybe this serves as an explanation for her behavior.
The neighborhood organized a carpool when her sweeties were all in grade school. Aghast, at the mention of providing a tool for creating soft generations of the future, she politely declined the invitation to join. The long distance of 5 blocks seemed a laughable reason to coddle the young. So, being stubborn, tough as jerky left in the Utah desert sun for the duration of summer, she forced her poor children to walk to school through all seasons. "There is no bad weather, just poorly outfitted humans," was a quote indelibly inscribed deep within her gray matter.
Over the pulpit at church, she shrank low in her pew when a fine member of the congregation explained that because his junior high aged daughter missed the bus (a distance of three houses) on a regular basis, his relationship with her had grown strong with the little chats that they were able to have over the two mile Suburban ride to school. Ashamedly, she realized that she had been a VERY BAD mother. Not only did her children have to walk to grade school, but they were forced to walk the two miles to the junior high if they missed the bus and thus those deep, bonding, closeness-enabling chatting moments were lost forever.
In her later years, she mused wistfully with perhaps a tear or two in her eyes as she passed the grade school and watched the long line of cars dropping off children in 45-degree, clear weather, knowing that the cars would return later in the day as the little darlings called home with requests for the delivery of their forgotten lunches. She also realized that these beautiful children would be greeted at the door by their lovely mothers ushering them in with plates of freshly-baked homemade cookies. Her offspring enjoyed no such luxuries.
Despite her cruelty, each of her children had somehow grown into magnificent adults, each tough in their own way. Their saving grace must have been their wonderful father and the pitying neighbors who allowed them to join the carpool when winds were 70 mph, or temperatures dipped to -11.
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