One Badass Mother

There are many amazing and strong women in the world. Winnie was one of them.

Another Mother’s Day approaches and it’s another bittersweet time.

On one hand I am fortunate to celebrate my wife, sister, mother-in-law and friends – all, fantastic mothers. But the one person I really want to honor is no longer with us.

My mom, Winnie, left us in 2014. Far too young at 63. It was her birthday yesterday.

In an era where women are labeling themselves as “fierce” or “warriors” (which I’m all for), Winnie was one of the original bad asses.

She was born in California in May of 1951 to a military family. That meant they were constantly moving, including spending a few years in Japan. They landed back in the states in a small town called Darien Georgia.

It literally had one stoplight. For her driving test, the sheriff walked out of courthouse and told her to “drive to the light, turn ‘round and come back and we’ll get your license.”

Her mother, Elsie, was a semi-joyless taskmaster. I wrote about her in an earlier piece.

---

---

Winnie and her older brother, Bob, who I was named after, were routinely disciplined for just having fun. A rift grew between mother and daughter and Winnie left as soon as she was able.

She traveled north to Denver staying with friends and then met a handsome pilot, named Dan. By the time she was 18 she was married and had a baby boy, me. It was August, 1969.

Life seemed to be very happy at first. Looking back at the old photo albums I see we traveled to visit friends and family. There were pictures of Dan and I playing when I was around three years old.

A lot of that is in the past tense because those are the only memories I have of my biological father.

Dan flew down to Florida for a boys’ vacation. Winnie called down to check on him. An unknown female answered the phone. My mom calmly told the woman to tell Dan that, “his bags are packed on the front porch when he gets home.”

And they were.

It was us against the world. My beautiful, strong and loving mother.

We struck out to Chicago. She had friends there and quickly found a great paying union job at Dominik’s grocery store. It afforded us our own apartment and she was able to pay for daycare.

She bought a gorgeous red Pontiac Firebird. It didn’t have seatbelts, but she provided for my safety via the “arm of steel,” that mothers in the 1970s used to stop their children from flying through the windshield.

Safety be damned, we hit the road. I have pictures of us road tripping to the St. Louis Gateway Arch. She even snapped a shot of me peeing on the side of the road during a pitstop.

She took me to Cubs’ games and to see the Bears play at Soldier Field and Lambeau Field.

Mom gradually started dating again. There were a couple of nice guys and a couple of duds. One of them – who I always had a bad feeling about – put his hands on me one time.

Just one time.

Winnie tossed him and his cheesy mustache right out of our life.

The harsh Chicago winters wreaked havoc on my immune system as I suffered from a couple of bouts of pneumonia that landed me in the hospital.

Uncle Bob had found his Shangri-La in Cape Canaveral Florida. He was running a dredge and loved the temperate climate. Mom was staring out the window at a blizzard while bragged about sitting on the beach.

She packed all our belongings into her new powder blue Pinto. She bought it more for safety for me, but then the stories broke about how they had the propensity to explode because of the location of the rear fuel tank.

That was only one seed in this lemon. Our road trip to Florida lasted approximately two hours until we broke down in a blizzard.

Winnie climbed out and flagged down a semi-truck, got us a ride to a mechanic who then fixed our car. Two days later I was sitting on the beach while the warm Atlantic water splashed over my feet.

We rented a single wide trailer on the Cape, merely miles away from the space center. It wasn't much to look at from the outside, but inside there was a nice living room on the right, followed by the kitchen and then back to the bedrooms. We each had our own room.

The launches would shake our house. And there is nothing like being woken up by a night launch as you wonder if the world is under attack.

Our first Florida home. It was nicer on the inside.

Winnie found work as a bartender at the Tick Tock Lounge near the beach. Yes, it was as divey as you imagine. One day, she met a handsome beer deliveryman with wavy brown hair and mutton chop sideburns. Randy was the name embroidered on his shirt.

A whirlwind romance ensued, and we moved inland to Cocoa to a very nice townhome. I had my own room. Pretty soon I had a new sibling in my baby sister. I was seven.

Randy and I found our way eventually. As a stepfather, I can’t imagine how difficult that role was for him. But we made the best out of things in the end.

Mom found work at a local convenience store chain. There were two nice men with last names beginning with “S” that created S & S Enterprises. She started as a cashier but quickly moved in to management and was running their busiest location with more than 20 gas pumps, a full deli, and a large grocery department.

She had a staff of nearly 100 for the 24-hour business. She made the schedule and kept the P & L looking tight. And she did it with a people-first management style. She knew that happy people meant happy employees.

Winnie was “mom” to everyone at the store. But she was not afraid to discipline anyone. People respected her because of her levelheadedness.

She was like that as a mother as well. Winnie exuded warmth and calmness.

When I was younger she had told me about how domineering and unloving her mother was. She vowed to be the opposite of that with her children – loving, supporting, affectionate. But don’t draw her ire.

In eighth grade, I had a teacher who didn’t like me and my friends in his class. Granted, we were probably being obnoxious but what he did was disproportionate to our behavior.

He put the largest kids in the class next to each of us and told them to hit us if we start to talk. I was absolutely flabbergasted and said so. Then I received a punch in my left bicep. I said something to the effect of, “are you serious?” And received another pop.

I’ve never had trouble in school, so I was little hesitant to mention it. But mom had always said that I could tell her anything. So I did.

She was incensed. She lit a cigarette and started swearing about the teacher as smoke poured out of her mouth. She looked like a dragon.

The next day Mom, Dad and I were in the Dean’s office filing a complaint. I never saw the teacher again.

Another promise mom reiterated to us was that we could always come back home if we needed to. There would always be a room for us.

I rolled my eyes at this when I left the house to move to my first apartment. But many years later, after a bad breakup, I moved to Jacksonville where there was a room for me in their townhome. It was the best thing for me as I became closer with my sister and heal my emotional wounds.

I had transferred my grocery job up there and it so happened that I was the assistant manager of the location where both my mother and sister worked.

They had to call me “Mr. Garrett.” That was rich.

Mom called me up front one time for a check approval. The moment I walked up, she started gabbing with the customer, “This is my son. Isn’t he handsome?”

Meanwhile I’m blushing while trying to figure out this lady is trying to pass off a phony check.

Mom supported me through my first marriage, and subsequent divorce. I moved back home for that one as well.

They also were very kind about helping pay for a second wedding.

Winnie really wanted grandchildren and would always needle me about it, in a loving way. My sister was the first one to grant her the long-awaited wish.

Erin and I were about five years behind with our first. In a couple more years there were four grandsons, two from each family. She was there to see them all.

Mom reacting to finding out she’s going to be a grandmother again.

Unfortunately my father wasn’t. Cancer took him in 2002. It was the worst timing as they had found success in their own business and were living a good life.

Mom, of course was broken up. It didn’t help that she also lost her best friend the next year. A litany of health problems started which landed her in the hospital with a very rare pulmonary disorder.

I flew down to help my sister manage things. It was heartbreaking and tragic. But, I was proud of myself for having the courage to be with her when she passed. My sister and I both hugged her and told her everything was going to be okay. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. I wanted to run out of the room, but I knew that if the circumstances were reversed, she would’ve been right there with me.

---

My mother taught me so many things.

She fostered my love for reading.

“I know you love movies,” she said. “books are so much better. The only limit is your imagination.”

She told me never to mix colors with whites when doing laundry. She wouldn't let me leave in a wrinkled outfit. She even made me iron my jeans. I carried that habit into adulthood.

She sought out the laughter in everything. She loved music and shared that with me as well.

Mom always encouraged me to travel and see the world. We weren't rich by any means growing up, but every year the school would sponsor a bus trip to North Carolina or Tennessee so us Florida kids could go snow skiing. It was $149 and she saved money for weeks. Later, I ended up on the road as a consultant for a decade and saw a some amazing parts of the world.

She always told me how proud she was of me. I used to joke with her that if I was a serial killer, she would say something like, “my son is the best serial killer out there.”

Mom always told us that if one of us kids had died before her they would have to bury her as well. I always thought that was so dramatic as a kid, but I realized she just loved us that much. As a father now, I totally understand those feelings.

She would always answer “I love you,” with “I love you more.” I should’ve told her that she didn’t have to say that because I already knew.

---

A few years after she passed, Erin and I were at a tattoo convention. For my 6th one, I memorialized my kick ass mother with a custom Mom tattoo on my left thigh. I think she would love it.