Sweatpants & Soul | Hungering

Mom cooked, three times a day. I use the term “cook” loosely. She prepared meals. Dad died when I was seven years old. Before his death, our family consisted of Dad, my baby sister, Mom and me. She cooked everything we ate, even though it wasn’t her forte. Even though Mom’s primary seasonings were bacon grease and/or vinegar, the time we spent at the table created lasting memories for me. Dad threw his head back and laughed out loud at something Mom said, or I did, at every meal. As long as he was alive I knew I was loved. These memories sustained me and helped me put our troubles into perspective. Mom was a homemaker. She kept a clean house. She made clothes for herself, the baby, and me. She used washtubs, a scrub board, and a clothesline. When we had rain or snow, she strung a line in the front room and dried the clothes indoors. Otherwise they hung outside until dry. In winter they froze. We had enough to eat, and yet I hungered. I starved for affection, for praise, for my mother’s attention. I grew up believing I was no different from the laundry. I was … Continue reading Sweatpants & Soul | Hungering