PICTORIAL PAGES Christel's home page Christel and siblings Emanuel Charlton et al Bob and his mother Doug and Christel Nancy and Christel ARTICLES Toasting on her 88th Happy 100th Birthday TRIBUTES Bob's Eulogy Gene's Elegy Darrel's Tribute Meredith's Tribute Nancy's Tribute |
--Bob Murdock - November, 1996 I'm Bob, Christel's first son. That's first by age, not preference. The first thing I learned about my mother was how resourceful she could be. For example, she handed me a dish towel, when I was four, and taught me how to dry the dishes. I assumed then that every boy helps his mother in the kitchen; not until much later did I find out the truth. My dishes and silverware came out really dry. Mom told me that if I left any water on the spoons they would cry. I believed that for a couple of years, too. I don't remember the process, but my mother taught me to read before I went to school. At first it wasn't very useful, since about all we had around the house was the Saturday Evening Post and Delineator Magazine. But my first grade teacher was impressed, when Mom took me in for a preschool interview and I read a few lines of Dick and Jane to her. "That's nothing," I said. "Listen to me say the alphabet forwards and backwards!" So I dazzled her with that little trick. Turns out that hasn't been too useful, either. Mom encouraged me to read; but not at nap time. This period in mid-afternoon was for sleeping. One time, at age five, I decided it would be okay to sneak a few minutes of a new book during the rest hour. Unknown to me, my mother appeared outside my bedroom window. The curtain was pulled shut, but the window was open; and she said "Bobby, do I hear pages turning?" "No, mama, I was just going tsp, tsp with my mouth!" Thus began my career of mischief. A ritual I really appreciated was the bedtime story period. Maybe it was the only way to get us to bed; but I enjoyed it so much that I had a little trouble outgrowing it. I must have been ten years old when, one evening, the S.O.S. club met in our living room. This time there was no bedtime story - and I noticed it, clearly. After stewing about it for a little while, I hollered down the stairway. Mom had to interrupt the meeting to take care of her spoiled brat. The next day we had a little talk about politeness when company is present. I would say that most of Mom's discipline was of the quiet, patient variety. One time I was so upset about some imagined grievance that I jumped up and down as I vented my feelings. (A rare occurrence, of course.) My mother watched me for a moment, then calmly said "That's very good. Just keep doing that for ten minutes!" I felt like a fool. Along with patience. Mom frequently displayed a lot of understanding. This was obvious the time I walked up the hill in Hubbardston to do a grocery errand. She had given me a ten-dollar bill - but I lost it, en route. "Mom, I don't know how to tell you this..." She looked pretty sad, but said only "Too bad. Well, we'll manage." I will miss you, Mom, but I will never forget your love, guidance, and patience. |
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