A lesson from my mom

My mom taught me many great lessons and has given me some wonderful advice. In fact, she’s still teaching me things about how to be a better person and a better mom. But one lesson I remember wasn’t really something she taught me in words, but in her actions.

(Now my memories of this story may not be the most accurate, since this happened a long time ago, so, Mom, if you are reading this, feel free to add any details in or correct me if I’m wrong.)

My mom had been to visit a neighbor and I went along with her. I wasn’t very old, probably around 5. As she and this neighbor were talking in the front room, I wandered back to the kitchen, and spotted the two loaves of freshly baked banana bread that were cooling on the counter. That bread smelled so good and looked so pretty, I was drawn to it. I guess I thought if I just picked a piece out of the corner, no one would notice. It wasn’t like I was taking a piece off the very top or anything. That piece tasted so good, I broke off another little piece and ate that, too. I don’t remember how much of that bread I ate, but basically ruined both loaves. If they were meant to be a gift for someone else, they were no longer give-able. If they were meant for her own family, they were somewhat mangled, what with little nibbles picked out of the corner.

The ladies finished their visit and we went home. I’m sure it wasn’t long before my mom received a phone call from this woman letting her know what her daughter had done. When my mother asked me about the bread, I of course denied eating any of it and suggested that it must have been a mouse. My mother didn’t yell at me, but prompted me to tell the truth. She was teaching me patience and honesty right then. I guess I broke down and told her that yes, I had eaten it, and I was sorry. My mom must have made some bread or some other food to take to this neighbor, and when we took it over to her, I picked some flowers and gave them to her and told her I was sorry that I had eaten her bread. My mother was teaching me that it’s not enough to just say you’re sorry, but you have to make it up to them, if possible. Although I felt terrible from what I did, and my mother must have been so embarrassed by my hungry little actions, I was not punished. There was no spanking, no time-out, no yelling. She let me think about what I had done wrong, and I punished myself for my actions. Mom was teaching me to develop my own sense of right and wrong.

After we came home, my mom hugged me and told me that I had done the right thing in apologizing, and she hoped I had learned something. By her loving actions, I learned more than I would have if she lectured me for hours. How grateful I am for a mother who taught me important lessons in life. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you.