She was born April 22, 1941, a Tuesday. Her daddy was a farmer and her momma worked at her school. It was before Pearl Harbor, television, computers or the internet. Franklin Roosevelt was president, and Hitler was at the height of his power. Then in came Mary Bell Ferguson. The world wouldn’t be the same.
She grew up in simpler times, we’d say now. I think they were just as complicated as today, but with different issues. Civil Rights was gearing for its fight then, now we have Abortion Rights at the forefront of a struggle, again. Kids in the fifties were still kids. They wanted to rebel, just like now. Mary Bell rode bicycles on dirt roads, went to dances at school, and cruised the backroads, listening to rock and roll and country music. She, and her friends, went on dates, made out with guys (ooh yuck!) and did all the things that teenagers still do. Then she fell in love and got married. Things changed.
From the late fifties to the mid-sixties, she had four kids. I was the last. Still her baby at fifty-eight, I’m happy she’s, my mom. I look back at all she did for us kids, and her family in general, and I’m impressed. I had four kids myself, so I know how hard it is to raise that many youngins. She did an awesome job. Just look at me!
In recent years, as I approach my sixties, I think about who my mom was when she was young. Before my dad, and us kids. I try to put together the image from bits and pieces of old photos, and stories mom tells. It’s hard to see your parent as a person. They are so imprinted in your mind as a parent that imagining them as being no different from you is nearly impossible. She had dreams, aspirations and goals just like any young person. She liked movies, music and hanging out with her friends just like I did. Then life took her places she didn’t see coming. A husband, kids and a home to care for took up most of her life. I’m grateful for all that she did for us, because my life was so much the better for it. But she made all of us her life and put her own desires on the back burner. Heck, she put it all back in the cabinet and closed the door. She lived a selfless life so that we had everything a family could need. She was base camp for Team Stone. Thank you, Mary Bell, for being that woman that put her family first. I know you’d do it all again.
When I look at old black and white photos of my mom, I see so many people. Me. My sisters and brother. My kids, especially my daughter, Candice. Mary Bell’s eyes dance with mischief, and she poses like a tough little kid with a determined spirit that doesn’t give up. They’re the same eyes I see even today when I’m talking to her. That tough little girl just grew up to be a tough little lady. And her sense of humor, her matter-of-fact way of making her opinions known, and the love she still shows to each member of our family, still shines in those eyes. Eighty-three years of living may have slowed her body down, but I see everything that makes her a beautiful woman still intact. She’s still an awesome little girl inside, just the outside has changed. I’m pretty sure I’d have loved to hang out with her way back then, because I love hanging out with her now.
I love you, Mom! Happy Birthday!
God Bless Y’all!
P.S.
A quick shout out to another little lady, Miss Marilynn, who was the recipient of the only autograph given out at my Estate Sale this past weekend. Hang onto that autograph, girl! It’s probably going to be a rare item in the future! It was a pleasure to meet you!
Rolling Stones 