The Right Word (from my Mom's blog)
One of my fondest memories of Mom and I's relationship when I was little revolved around words. I can remember being so small that my hand was swallowed up in hers when she held it and I had to look up and up and up to see and speak with her. I love words and have for as far back as I can remember. I often would hear a word I didn't know and ask Mom,
“What does that mean?”
She never hesitated to help me say it right if I had the pronunciation wrong, then would sweetly tell me what it meant and then use it in a sentence so I could hear not just a definition but how it was used. It was just something that happened all through out my growing up years. Long before I picked up my first book for fun, I was hungry for language and loved using it in new and interesting ways.
I recall vividly one night when I was quite young, and something unusual happened, Mom and I had an evening alone. Don on his mission or in college, Heather too and the teenagers had school things to see to, Sam had a sleep over and remarkably so did David. It was JUST me and Mom. It is I think one of the only times I ever had an uninterrupted evening with Mom until I was a teenager.
I remember we went through the drive through at Taco Bell (an almost unheard of indulgence at that time). At some point in the evening we walked over to the Magyars house (three doors down when we lived on Aberdeen Way in Boulder). It was Spring I think and the evening air was soft and warm. A breeze came up and it felt as if I was wrapped the softest of blankets. I stopped walking, holding mom's hand forced her to stop too. I'm sure my eyes were wide when I asked her,
“Mom do you feel that? What IS that?” She explained it was a Chitaqua, a warm soft wind that swept through the area, it is a native American term and the name of a beautiful park in the foothills. I don't know why but something about that night, and that word, even that amazing sensation is branded indelibly in my memory.
It wasn't until I was in the third or fourth grade when I found a book to read for quiet time in school that I fell in love with reading for its own sake. Like was mentioned before, once we kids found that first book, we became avid and ardent bookworms from then on out. Thanks to Mom's example and encouragement I not only read, but write. Its what I want to do with my life, and she has been a staunch (and even pushy) supporter of my writing habit from the very beginning. I love words and stories and that is I think almost entirely thanks to Mom.
“What does that mean?”
She never hesitated to help me say it right if I had the pronunciation wrong, then would sweetly tell me what it meant and then use it in a sentence so I could hear not just a definition but how it was used. It was just something that happened all through out my growing up years. Long before I picked up my first book for fun, I was hungry for language and loved using it in new and interesting ways.
I recall vividly one night when I was quite young, and something unusual happened, Mom and I had an evening alone. Don on his mission or in college, Heather too and the teenagers had school things to see to, Sam had a sleep over and remarkably so did David. It was JUST me and Mom. It is I think one of the only times I ever had an uninterrupted evening with Mom until I was a teenager.
I remember we went through the drive through at Taco Bell (an almost unheard of indulgence at that time). At some point in the evening we walked over to the Magyars house (three doors down when we lived on Aberdeen Way in Boulder). It was Spring I think and the evening air was soft and warm. A breeze came up and it felt as if I was wrapped the softest of blankets. I stopped walking, holding mom's hand forced her to stop too. I'm sure my eyes were wide when I asked her,
“Mom do you feel that? What IS that?” She explained it was a Chitaqua, a warm soft wind that swept through the area, it is a native American term and the name of a beautiful park in the foothills. I don't know why but something about that night, and that word, even that amazing sensation is branded indelibly in my memory.
It wasn't until I was in the third or fourth grade when I found a book to read for quiet time in school that I fell in love with reading for its own sake. Like was mentioned before, once we kids found that first book, we became avid and ardent bookworms from then on out. Thanks to Mom's example and encouragement I not only read, but write. Its what I want to do with my life, and she has been a staunch (and even pushy) supporter of my writing habit from the very beginning. I love words and stories and that is I think almost entirely thanks to Mom.
posted by Deb Bluth at 7:13 AM
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