Navel Gazing

Mom

Television, although entertaining and to whatever degree influential in my life, is not the most impactful source responsible for forming who I am. That credit goes to the family I grew up with, with a heavy emphasis placed on my mom.

Designated "Sergeant Sophia", my mom earned her nickname by the manner in which she ruled our household and conducted her life. It's easy for me to recognize that the desires spawned in my youth were, to a greater degree than all else, inspired by my mother's foretelling of our family loyalty.

A central theme missing from her childhood; she was determined to instill a sense of family in ours. In today's jargon, people would say my parents came from dysfunctional families. Dysfunction, defined as not performing as expected, accurately describes both parents' families, yet, understates the hardship endured by each.

While under her biological mother's care, she lacked the basic necessities that most take for granted. Not long after her toddlerhood, my mother and her elder brother were left to fend for themselves in late 1930s San Francisco. No father around and an alcoholic mother, whom I've imagined from fragmented descriptions, was not present even if physically available.

As adults, my siblings and I witnessed a reunion between Mom and her brother that ended an absence of more than 50 years since the two were last together.

[He has since passed.]

We gathered in the dining room of my parents' home and attentively listened as they unraveled stories that recalled horrific details from their youth: a meal prepared from rancid meat engorged with maggots; separation from each other after removal from their home; and recollections of brutal treatment as they bounced from place to place within the Foster Care system.

Both siblings were visibly proud as they recounted their stories of survival and the bond shared in childhood. My Mom fared better than her brother. She eventually landed in a stable home where she was accepted and cared for by her new foster family. The new environment was strict and disciplined but provided the stability and love missing from her life. She formed a sister bond that lasted through the death of our beloved Aunt Velma, who was the daughter of her foster Mom from an earlier marriage. I am named after her foster Dad, known to us as Papa Steve.

My mom may have started out from behind, but once she gained her footing as a young adult, she flourished. At work, she made the most of every position, from clerical to management, achieving that hard-to-obtain balance of likability and respect amongst her peers, subordinates, and supervisors. After retiring, she fulfilled a longstanding desire to continue her education that was cut short when she entered the workforce directly from high school. She enrolled at the local junior college and earned her AA degree.

At home, she ruled the roost, but not without the level of excitement and chaos expected with five young children to raise. I know my siblings and I tested her sanity, and although my sisters weren't angels, I'm confident that my brothers and I were responsible for more than our share of the testing. In response, there were quick, decisive, and sometimes severe responses from her; but after all had calmed down, she would soothingly deliver her well-known speech on the importance of family, reiterating how lucky we were to have each other and how someday that would become clear to us.

There's no question that someday arrived long ago, as too her words of wisdom have materialized. I have to smile when I realize that life has come full circle when ending conflict amongst my own boys in her same manner. I hope their own sibling relationships can weather the storms of childhood.

There is no denying the similarities in personality that each of my siblings and I share with my mom, who, to this day, although a tamer version of the Sergeant Sophia from our youth, continues to be a guiding force that binds us.