My mother was one of the smartest people I ever knew. She was a constant reader and she introduced her seven children to libraries when we were only toddlers. She often read books to us. She was also a born teacher, and was always teaching us in every way she could. She wasn't a church goer when I was a child, yet she was more Christian than most people I knew were. Despite having to live in poverty for much of her life, she always found ways to share the little she had with others she thought had even less than she had. So when I and my brothers were children, we often were sent with something like a loaf of bread, or a pie or cake, or a bouquet of flowers, to someone she'd heard was going through a hard time, because sharing was what she was all about.

She also gave me one of the best pieces of advice anyone ever gave me, and the advice was that if I knew something good about somebody I should tell him or her so. And the reason for doing that, she said, was that most people go through life getting lots of criticism and very little praise, and I should try to help balance that out. But I didn't realize until I was grown up the true beauty of that advice. Which was that it made me look for things to praise, and finding them made my world a better place.

My mother's reading tastes seldom involved fiction, because I guess she preferred reality. What I remember her reading was history books and biographies, and those tastes I think grounded her, and made her not susceptible at all to the fleeting theories that intrude upon our lives. So I can't picture her ever falling for the nasty and cruel messages we hear so much of in today's world. I think she would have been astonished if she were told that some people's political beliefs arose out of a book of fiction called "Atlas Shrugged." Or that scripts for a TV show called "24," that are complete works of fiction, would be used by our country's leaders as blueprints for political or military action. I think she would have thought of that as completely crazy.

But then she had to deal with reality all her life, reality like having a child who had been brain damaged by a disease there was no cure for when she had it, so that child never really grew up and needed care all her life. She also dealt with a Depression, and having little money, and a war that took two of her sons from her, and sent them back to her damaged in body and soul. Yet she never allowed those things to destroy her inner sense of who she was and what she believed in, and she stuck with that moral code, and tried to pass it on to those she loved.

She died at age 90, almost 25 years ago, but every year when Mother's Day comes around, and very frequently at other times, I think of her, and thank God for the gift that was given to me. Not just an extraordinary mother, but an extraordinary person I've tried to emulate, but with mixed success.

Her given name was "Meta," which my dictionary says means "along with," or "akin to." And her maiden name was Engel, which I've been told means angel in German. So having a mom whose very name meant akin to angels, how could I lose? So Happy Mother's Day, Mom, wherever you are. You were the best, and I'll love you forever. I look forward to seeing you again someday, if I'm lucky.

M.E. Johnson

Eckert

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