Jack A. Hendee, 32°
1180 N. Main St., Apt. 101A–164, Bishop, California 93514–2472

This Mother's Day tribute will probably remind every reader of a loved one, perhaps now gone, but never forgotten.

I never knew how, although I've studied it these many years, but Mother always knew. What did she know? Everything. All the time.

As a lad, from time to time I would slip a cookie or two from the jar and stuff it into my pocket to be eaten outside. As soon as I opened the kitchen door to go out, Mother, who had been in another room, would call out "Did you take one or two?" How did she know? Mothers know everything.

How did she always know if I didn't wash behind my ears? Or sloughed off with my homework? Or dented Dad's car and tried to get it repaired without her knowing? I don't know, but she did.

And, when I was small and fell and skinned my knees, she knew just how to fix me up by holding me and assuring me that I would be fine. Then, miracles of miracles, she would produce a batch of oven-warm chocolate-chip cookies and a glass of cow-fresh milk. She knew just what to do.

Also there were times when I was an incorrigible brat, and she never scolded, never raised her voice. Instead, she left me to my own vices, and I somehow realized that I was hurting her terribly. She knew just what to do to set me right again.

Could she laugh! Oh my yes! Especially if things were going badly. She made us all laugh by making light of the predicament we were in. No grousing or bad mouthing around Mom. She knew just what to do.

If I were to tell Mom a fib, did Mom know? You bet she did, but she never said a word. Just her steady, steely stare was enough. Then she would turn her back and get very busy in the kitchen or at her sewing machine. Was I made to look the fool? She always knew.

She could joke, laugh, dance, sing—always at the right moment. Could I write volumes about her? Any of you could do the same about your Mother, I am sure, for we all have one thing in common. Our mothers always knew.

Then came what must be one of the most hurtful days in any Mother's life. "Mom, I want to enlist." "Honey, you can't yet. You're a year too young." But Dad said he would sign for me. For the first time ever, my mother's eyes lost their sparkling blue. There was some red in them. The night before I left, she spent the evening in the bedroom, alone. The following day, she was too busy to see me off at the station. I was hurt, and it took some time before I was smart enough to realize that she was too wise to come to the station with Dad and me. Mom knew what to do.

I was so busy in the service that I hardly had time to report home when I got a package. Often, it contained enough cookies to feed an entire unit. Mom even knew how to get me introduced around with my soon-to-be shipmates. I didn't realize when I boarded that troop train so long ago that I was leaving home forever. Oh sure, there were always visits, the holidays, the anniversaries—but now I was a visitor. No more did I have my room and my regular place at the table.

But Mom knew all through the years how to stay in touch. She always wrote beautiful, newsy letters. Never, never any bad news. She knew everything but only discussed the good things.

Mom was called by the Creator a long time ago, but sometimes when I'm having a problem and need help, I know the Lord summons my Mom to answer my call. I can almost hear her say, "Jackie, let's sit down in the kitchen and talk this over and see what we can do." My mom and yours know everything. On this Mother's Day, let's all say, "Thank you Mom!"

Jack A. Hendee is an Iowan by birth and a Californian since 1952. He was raised a Master Mason in Lorenzo Lodge No. 709 (now merged with Acacia Lodge No. 243), Hayward, Calif., in 1959 and is a member of the York Rite, Scottish Rite, and Al Bahr Shrine, all in San Diego. He retired from a career in marketing, sales, and distribution. A former member of Boys and Girls Mental Health Society, he now pursues several hobbies: writing, fishing, ham radio, photography, and boating where he holds a U.S.C.G. Master's License. He is much too busy in all Masonic Bodies but looking for more to do.