Happy 85th, mom!

This coming Saturday, my mom, Jackie Moore, is going to celebrate her 85^th birthday. I’m very grateful that thirteen of us plus three friends were able to travel to Arizona last week—where she and my Dad winter—to celebrate her birthday. What a privilege that I got to be present for her 85^th birthday celebration. As I say often, Yay, God!

I can’t help but write a tribute to her today.

She grew up the oldest of three on a dairy farm, outside of Mantorville, Minnesota. When I was growing up my family went to that farm quite often. It has a special place in our hearts. She graduated from high school and went to college at Mankato State—the name of the school then. She met my dad, fell in love, and got married at the age of 22.

You can do the math to see how long she has been married. Incredible! And that she has been married to my dad that long? Even more incredible!! 

After graduating from college she taught grade school in Paullina, Iowa. When she became pregnant with me, she was forced to leave teaching during her pregnancy. Female teachers weren’t allowed to teach while they were “showing.”

What a different world.

Shortly after I was born I was lying on her stomach in the hospital. A number of names were being bantered about for me. No decision had been made when the doctor came in and asked the name of the baby. “His name is Paul,” she said. I was named by my mom. How cool is that!

She and my Dad moved to Worthington and started a life in that town on the prairie. She stayed at home to help raise my sister, who arrived twenty months later, and me.

When I grew up at 1914 Summit Ave in Worthington, Minnesota, our family had a rich life—and rich not meant from the perspective of wealth. Our life was family, church, friends and community.  Not complicated. Quite rich.

She came back to work and taught children with learning disabilities. She had to receive more schooling to teach. It wasn't easy. But she persevered.

One of my favorite stories of my mom happened when she became upset that a local developer wanted to build a small apartment complex near our home. She was against it. She was against it because of the traffic that it would cause that might cause harm to the many children that lived nearby.

So she went to the Worthington City Council meeting and spoke against it. She went by herself as my dad was not able to join her. I still remember what she said when she came home after the meeting, “I don’t think I made any friends tonight.” She was willing to speak in front of an all-male City Council and share her views. My mom and dad owned a small apartment complex in another part of town. The next day in the newspaper a headline on page three said something to the effect of “woman who owns apartment speaks against apartments.”

The apartment building eventually got built. This past summer I drove by that small building and remembered the story. It’s a story of determination—of a person who was going to speak up even if the resulting actions weren’t what she wanted.  

She and my dad went to every activity of my sister and me. Every sporting event and musical concert; every church program and club activity.  Every-single-one.

Because I share my mom’s determination, we’ve had a few moments of getting in each other’s way. Not significant but heated in the moment in a Minnesota type of way. Today these moments make me smile.

Like others in her generation, she is devoted to her family. When her four grandchildren grew out of infancy she hosted “Grandma camp.” Her four grandchildren hung out with her and my dad for a week. They all enjoyed ice cream and games and food and special projects and band concerts in the park. For many years ahead her grandchildren will look back and remember a woman who took the time to make them her top priority for that week.

Celebrating her 85^th birthday was special. It wasn’t all that different than many of the other family celebrations we’ve enjoyed through the years. The continuity of them strengthens us. People came, ate cake and drank coffee, looked at pictures, smiled and laughed, shared hugs and affectionate words. We’ll remember this special day.

Both my mom and I have more years behind us than in front of us. But no matter. It will always be a privilege to have Jacqueline Ann Moore as my mom. Happy Birthday!