My Mom’s wooden spoon
That’s my Mom’s wooden spoon. I’ve had it for over thirty years. You might see a cooking utensil, worse for wear. But I see my Mom.
I see her standing over the oven in our cramped kitchen on the south side of Milwaukee. Midway through making dinner, she lays the spoon down on the rim of the pan, possibly to sneak out for a smoke or to go get an Old Style shorty. When she comes back, the arm of the spoon is burnt. Whatever she was making; turns out fine.
My Dad was an extrovert’s extrovert. Garrulous, a born salesman. When he went out drinking he’d order a Manhattan and then start watering it down as it got past halfway. So, while the rest of his gang was three drinks into the evening, my Dad would still be nursing that watered down first drink. It was a strategy that served him well throughout the years.
My Mom was an introvert’s introvert. Most comfortable reading a good book. But it was her superpower too – she listened and learned and her empathy made strong relationships in the unlikeliest of circumstances. After my Dad died my Mom suffered a series of strokes. At one of her rehab centers she quickly befriended the twenty-something aides. When it was time to move into assisted living, two of those aides helped her move. “Nieces?” the manager at the assisted living asked. “Nope,” my sister replied, “Just friends.”
My folks’ strengths meshed well together. My Dad worked as a jeweler when he was younger and, when one of my college roommates got engaged, he used his contacts to help procure the wedding ring. I doubt six months later my Dad would remember this. But my Mom would remember it all: that my roommate grew up on the rough near north side of Milwaukee; that his Dad was a labor organizer; and that his wife grew up in the shadow of the Miracle Mile, the racetrack at the Wisconsin State Fair grounds.
Me, I’m somewhere in the middle, an introverted extrovert. I’m happy sitting quietly in the back and yet the last twenty years of my career I spent as a public speaker, basically the center of attention. As soon as I retired, the introvert event of the century hit. Covid. It’s a rock that in many ways we’re still climbing out from under. It might do us well to pick up some lessons from both my Dad and my Mom.
Anyway, that’s my Mom’s wooden spoon.
