My Mother's Day Tribute

My mom, in front of her last
captive audience, speaking
at her retirement party.

For my entire life, up until her retirement last June, my mother was an educator, professionally speaking.  I say "professionally speaking" because my mom is one of those few people that you will meet in life who are education.  Education is them.  She eats it.  She breathes it.  And even though she is a southern lady, she sweats it from every pore.  Peggy Early is the reason that I became a teacher.  Plain and simple.  I was lucky enough to have it bred into my genetic make up.  However there is example after example of students who were forever impacted by the education they received under her tutelage, and as a result, pursued a career teaching.  She connected with children in a way that is seldom seen.  For the animal lovers she had rabbits, iguanas, and hatched chicken eggs year after year, even though it meant driving back to school every night for the 10:00PM turning.  For future engineers she did an egg drop, climbing to the highest point of the school to test student-built contraptions.  If you were into drama there was always the Thanksgiving play and puppets to look forward to.  And if it was tough love or a soft place to fall that you were seeking, consciously or not, she had plenty of that to go around as well.  She was able to extract every last drop of potential out of her students, and after all was said and done, her students were grateful.  And so am I.


My mom is the reason I have this opportunity to travel abroad.  The opportunity to further my education and broaden my horizons.  She set the ball in motion by nominating me for an R.E.B. Award, provided by The Community Foundation Serving Richmond and Central Virginia.  She made this nomination as a former award winner herself.  When I was in elementary school she won her R.E.B. award.  Teaching fourth grade at the time, the focus of her social studies curriculum was Virginia history.  For this reason, she used her grant money to expand her knowledge of all things Virginia.


It was the summer of 1992 when we embarked on our adventure, visiting nearly every county in the state.  See, she took me along on her trip, and we built some of our greatest memories over the course of those two months on the road.  We started by driving to the western part of the state where we saw things like the natural springs of Bath County, the deep inner workings of a coal mine, and cattle auctions.  It was also in south western Virginia where the infamous claw-foot-tub incident took place, but that is another story for another day.  (Let's just say that it ends up with me naked, folded in half like a taco wrapped in a shower curtain, hands and feet waving in the air, pinned between the wall and tub, just narrowly missing the opportunity to use a fire extinguisher as a cork.  Yeah, good luck erasing that image from your minds eye.)  We ended up watching the ponies swim from Assateague to Chincoteague and nearly brought home a colt.  There was the beach, national forests, Civil War reenactments, wax museums, Natural Bridge, the Arlington Cemetery, and so much more.

Business in the front, party in the rear.

The things we saw were amazing, but the times I really remember came from inside the car.  This was where my mom and I really connected.  The soundtrack of our summer included cassettes of Dirty Dancing, Good Morning Vietnam, and America's favorite line-dancer: Billy Ray Cyrus, who was still in his mullet and white high-tops days.  Remember, this is the summer of 1992, the summer of "Achy Breaky Heart."  To this day I still know every word to every song on each of those albums, and despite not having listened to them again since our mini van pulled back into our driveway at home, whenever I hear a song from one of those track lists I am disappointed when it is not followed by the next song on the cassette.  I mean hearing Patrick Swayze sing "She's Like the Wind" leaves you feeling empty when it is not followed by "Hungry Eyes."  As we drove from hotel to hotel we bonded through song, conversation, and impromptu dance breaks.  Sure, our life was in jeopardy when we were behind a truck in the fog on Afton Mountain when it started shooting it's treads at us, or when we were directed to be on the look out for low flying aircraft (like there was anything that we could have done about it), but those near death experiences really strengthen the bond between mother and child.


Unfortunately, my mom will not be able to go with me to England and Ireland this summer.  I can only imagine what stories we would have if she had to drive on the wrong side of the road.  But, fortunately for me, like the thousands of other students she impacted over her 42 year teaching career, I know that she will be with me in spirit.  And while I am driving through the Irish countryside, I will make sure to blast "I've Had the Time of My Life," with my hand flying out the window, just for her.  Thank you mom.  I love you.