Growing up, I wasn’t blessed with many material things.
Although my Daddy worked long, hard hours, my Mama stayed home taking care of
the house, my sister, brother, and I. By all standards, we were poor but my
siblings and I didn’t realize it. We had food to eat, clothes to wear, and a
roof over our heads. But one day, when I was about six or seven, I can’t recall
the exact age now, I found out the truth. I learned that the little amount of
money my father brought home was never enough and no matter how my mother tried
to stretch it, we always needed more. That need caused my mother to become very
resourceful but even with all of her effort, most of our needs were met as God
blessed us abundantly through the generosity of others.
One day, not too long after we’d moved to Clarkston from
Atlanta, I met our new neighbors. There were two boys and a girl. Their only girl was a few years older than I.
We became fast friends and soon played together every afternoon after school.
One day, as we were playing, she pulled out a large case from her closet and
asked if I’d like to see her Barbies. I had no idea what Barbies were but they
sounded interesting, so I said yes. As she removed each doll from the case, I
marveled at their beauty. Though they were only dolls made of plastic, they
looked very lifelike. They had real looking hair, perfectly painted on makeup,
tiny jewelry, and beautiful clothes. Oh, how I wanted one of those dolls!
When I got home, I remember telling my mother how
desperately I wanted and needed a Barbie doll. As Mama stood over a hot iron
skillet cooking our dinner, she listened and every few minutes replied, “Uh
huh.” I must have talked incessantly, I had a habit of doing that and although
the memory isn’t quite as sharp now, I’m sure, as I got ready for bed that
evening and waited for her to tuck me in, I was still talking about how much I
needed that doll.
Not too many days after our conversation, Mama gave me a
gift. It wasn’t a Barbie doll, but it was a doll that was very similar. The
doll I received was named Tressy. Mama had picked her up at our local Sears
store. Tressy looked very much like a Barbie doll but had one major difference.
She had a button on her belly that when pushed would allow her hair to
magically grow.
I was so excited to have my very own doll! It didn’t matter
that she wasn’t a real Barbie doll. She had tiny black shoes and a bright red
dress. She even came with a miniscule plastic brush to help style her
beautiful, blonde hair. I could barely wait to show my friend my treasured
possession.
After months of playing with Tressy, her bright red dress
began to show wear. Unlike my friend, I didn’t have extra clothes for Tressy.
As I brought that fact to my mother’s attention, I’m sure my desire for more
material things weighed heavily on her. I had no idea how my wants impacted her,
but would soon find out.
Mama was a seamstress. She often took in sewing jobs in an
effort to supplement our meager income. Many a night my siblings and I would
fall asleep to the gentle hum of her sewing machine as she worked diligently to
complete a paying job. Sometimes, if there was an approaching deadline for one
of her clients, she’d work into the wee hours of the morning, but Mama always did
her sewing while we were at school or after she’d fed us and tucked us into bed
for the evening.
One night, as I lay in bed listening to the whirring sound
of her sewing machine, I was unable to sleep. Quietly, I crawled out of bed and
wandered into Mama’s sewing room. Her sewing room wasn’t really a room. It was
a tiny closet that had been converted. It had just enough space for her sewing
machine, a few shelves on the wall above it, and a file cabinet tucked into the
corner where she stored all of her patterns.
When I entered the small space, Mama looked up. “What are
you doing awake?” she said. I replied that I couldn’t sleep. As I stood next to
her, I glanced down to see what she was working on and was surprised to see a
tiny black and white houndstooth coat. It took a few minutes for me to realize
that coat she was making was for me. It was a miniature piece of clothing for
my Tressy doll.
Mama seemed flustered that I’d caught her by surprise and
hurriedly shooed me out of the room and back to bed.
The next morning, I pestered her about the little coat I’d seen
her making. She told me it wasn’t finished yet and said she had some details to
add before it would be complete. I was so excited knowing that in a few days,
Tressy would have another piece of clothing, a gorgeous black and white coat.
Mama found some teeny, tiny, black buttons at a cloth shop
in Scottdale where she purchased all of her sewing supplies. While watching TV
she’d often do her hand sewing for projects and in my mind’s eye, I can still
see her fingers working swiftly to sew on those little buttons. Thimble on her
middle right finger and needle gripped tightly between thumb and forefinger,
the threaded needle moved in and out as she guided it to accomplish the task.
When the coat was complete, Mama handed it to me. I was so
proud of that tiny work of art. As I leaned in to kiss her cheek, she smiled a
great, big smile. I told her I loved her and ran off to play.
That was the first of many handmade doll clothes I
possessed. Mama continued making those clothing items for my doll and soon was making
them for my sister’s Tammy doll, too.
At Christmas, we each received a storage case for our dolls
and their clothes. Only the suitcase had been purchased, the clothing had all
been handmade. Tiny buttons, ribbons, and belts adorned each item of clothing
and those gifts of love soon became the envy of my neighbor.
There’s not a price you can put on the gift of love. Those
little coats and dresses that Mama made were her way of showing me that she
wanted to meet my needs. Even though we didn’t have money for store bought
items, she did what she could to make me happy.
As an adult, I can’t help but tear up when I remember how
hard she worked to make those little doll clothes. It wasn’t until I began to
sew that I realized how difficult it must have been for Mama to make those
little clothes. The side seams of the garments weren’t more than 5 or 6 inches
long and were less than half an inch wide. It took great skill and precision to
maneuver the sewing machine needle without piercing a finger or two.
Every year, when Mother’s Day approaches, I remember those
little doll clothes and the sacrifice Mama made in buying the extra materials
to make them for me. I remember how she worked hunched over her sewing machine
late into the evenings and how tirelessly she added the detailed embellishments
to make them look professionally made.
Those little clothes are still around. I’m pretty sure my
sister has them packed in her little doll suitcase stored somewhere safe in her
home. And although I don’t have any of them in my possession, I have every
single one of them etched into my memory.
My mother was a remarkable person and was truly a Proverbs
31 woman. She was very resourceful and talented. She was giving and kind. She
loved others and loved God. I am thankful for her and though she’s not with us
any longer, I’ll always celebrate Mother’s Day remembering her fondly.
Two years ago, my oldest granddaughter wanted a Barbie doll
but her mommy didn’t like the worldliness of the dolls. The elaborate makeup
and revealing clothing weren’t appropriate for a little girl, she’d said. So, I
bought a handful of Barbie dolls at our local Goodwill and brought them home to
revamp. With acetone, I gently scrubbed off their makeup and repainted their
faces with kinder, gentler eyes and smiles. I removed their clothing and
replaced them with some handmade pieces. As I was working, it almost felt like
my Mama was peering over my shoulder whispering, “Add a button there.”
My gift of love was presented to my granddaughter on her birthday.
The blessing I received, as she opened the dolls, was priceless. That love that
Mama had shared with me had come full circle and hopefully, in the future, will
be passed down from generation to generation.
This Mother’s Day, as you celebrate your own Mom, try to
think about something she said or did to show her love for you. It may not have
been through a material gift. Perhaps it was only a look or a word but if you
think about it long enough, I’m sure you’ll understand that a mother’s love for
her child is a special kind of love and one that can’t be taken for granted. It’s
a love that should be celebrated and cherished for now and for always.
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