Last week I was relaxing on the porch of my downstate home that sits on the West bank of the Susquehanna River across from Harrisburg. It had been a long but rewarding day working in the flower gardens surrounding the house. Mother Nature had finally decided to let go of cold weather with a brief mid-April warm spell. Clumps of daffodils were opening with golden yellow smiles, reminding me that permanent Spring weather was just around the corner. All was right with the world.
Just as I was about to go inside the house, A fisherman accompanied by his three young sons, walked down the street past my front yard flower bed. Fisherman Dad was engrossed in conversation with the two older boys while their kid brother, barely Kindergarten age, lagged behind. The youngster, unaware of my presence on the front porch, stopped right in front of the house and picked a daffodil from a clump near the street. For a brief moment I was annoyed but didn't have time to protest. Fisherman Dad had captured the act with that proverbial set of eyes in the back of his head, an anatomical feature of all diligent parents. Without chastising the boy he emphasized the need to respect private property. The son pleaded his case: “ I was just picking it for mom.” Fisherman Dad gently replied, “ I know son, and mom would appreciate it, but we can't take someone's flowers without their permission. That's even more important than pleasing mom.”
At that moment two things simultaneously occurred. I had a seventy year flashback to an almost identical situation and Fisherman Dad suddenly became aware of my presence on the front porch. I shouted,“ Thanks for your concern but ironically I did the same thing when I was his age.” Fisherman Dad politely replied: “ I appreciate your understanding sir, but I've got to teach these guys respect for property while their still young enough to listen.”
Who said good parenting doesn't exist today?
We parted with a mutual admiration for the way we had each handled the situation. It then gave me time to reflect on the dilemma my brother and I had created on Mothers Day two generations ago.
It was Mother's Day weekend when I was in the first grade. My younger brother and I were walking home from a Saturday movie matinee through an adjacent neighborhood toward our West Philadelphia row home on a street devoid of lawns and gardens. That adjacent neighborhood had an abundance of Spring flowers blooming in each of the lush front yard gardens lining the sidewalk. By the time we reached Oxford Street we had picked a flower bouquet rivaling a store bought version and proudly presented it to our Mom as a Mothers Day gift. She, like Fisherman Dad, handled the situation with finesse. She first accepted our gift with sincere appreciation but then, without missing a beat, gently changed the conversation to a lesson of respect for private property. She outlined alternative methods of obtaining future bouquets by barter, cash, or permission from the owner. We viewed the lesson as a learning experience.
When I shared the parenting methods of Fisherman Dad and Ruth Schaeffer with my adult daughter, she giggled and remarked, “ looks like the apple didn't fall far from the Schaeffer tree Dad. When I was in kindergarten I picked Mom a bouquet of flowers from her backyard garden for Mother's Day. She'd worked hard all month preparing that garden with new and existing plants but showed nothing but appreciation when I presented her with my gift. Her gentle request to defer future bouquets was handled with the same finesse as your mom and your neighbor.”
Here's wishing all the moms out there a happy Mother's Day. If the bouquets you get originate from your own gardens, remember it's the thought that counts.
Stratton Schaeffer is a retired consulting engineer and farmer who lives on Joe Hill.