It’s my mother’s birthday.
I can hardly believe it. To me, she’s still my glamorous mom, and I’m her little girl, trying to follow in her footsteps.
When someone says, “Oh no, I’m becoming my mother!” – I laugh. But really there’s not much I would like better than to become my mother.
And I am well on my way.
The whole family took her out to dinner, and the first thing she said to me in the restaurant was, “Does my hair look okay?”
Yup, the acorn doesn’t fall too far from the tree.
And she told me a story recently that I had never heard before.
When she was sixteen she got her first job. She worked in a department store, in Accessories, selling purses and gloves, and such. Can you imagine needing a salesgirl for gloves? But remember, this was 1940. Ladies didn’t leave the house without gloves.
My mother was the child of Polish immigrants. They had very little money. They lived in a cold-water apartment with a toilet down the hall. My grandmother made all my mother’s clothes. My grandmother was talented at the sewing machine, but I am sure my mother craved stylish store-bought clothes. This was Mom’s opportunity to buy great clothes at a discount.
We have a lot in common. But of course when I worked in a clothing store, I had to quit. There were so many nice things, I owed them money at the end of the work week. I just couldn’t afford to work there.
So Mom was excited by and proud of her very first job. And a few weeks into it, the weather turned very cold. On a windy day with a driving freezing rain, her boss told my mother to stand by the door and sell umbrellas.
And she put on her coat (and her gloves) and went home.
Like mother, like daughter, I thought.
But that reminded me: My mother was a daughter too.
I asked, “Was your mother furious that you quit your job?”
“No,” My mother said. “She wan’t mad! She just laughed!”
YES! My DNA goes WAY BACK!
I’m so proud.
Happy Birthday, Mom!