My Mother's Secret

I missed one day of school in junior high and it turned out to be the day I discovered my mother’s secret.

I spent the morning reading the comic books I had borrowed from Benji when I knew I was getting a fever.

I heard the front door open and close around noon. I got up and looked out the kitchen window. My mother was standing on the curb next to the mailbox. The mailman was next door. He had no white truck. The only thing he was driving was his hush puppies.

He reached into his worn-out, over the shoulder leather letter holder and handed her the mail. With her back to the house, she sorted through the letters one-by-one. She looked both ways, tucked a letter in her apron pocket, turned, smiling like the cat that ate the canary, and started up the sidewalk. I beat it for the bedroom.

Three hours later she went to pick up my sister and brother. I went straight for the kitchen. The letter was still there. It was a bill from a fancy department store. The bill was in her name and it wasn’t small. The thing about my dad was that he never allowed charge accounts. He was real strict on that. Everything was cash except for the house and the bills that went with it. Money was tight. I wondered how she would pay it.

I went through the bill. It was clothes for us kids. She knew everyone was wearing corduroy jeans, button-down, half-sleeve shirts and weejuns. They were on the bill; along with two blouses for my sister, and a shirt and jeans for my brother. Nothing for herself.

We would just find the clothes hanging in our closet, or folded in the dresser like they belonged there. Like the Clothes Fairy delivered them.

Maybe she went shopping for herself sometimes, but my guess is she never made it out of the children’s department.

Here's to the moms who went without so we could go in style.