A Mother's Letter

Growing up in the Bronx it was a common treat to get visitors, guests and relatives visiting our home.  Many would bring a gift to my parents.  The Waterford crystal or Belleek china would get a special place in my mother's cabinet.  Despite the riches of the gifts, the best gift my parents would receive was the news from home.  My dear parents were a loving couple, hard working and devoted to each other and their faith.  Money was not plenty, but good food and good times was plentiful.  

I fondly recall listening to the radio playing WFUV, 90.7 on Sundays in Woodlawn.  If you know anything about Woodlawn, it is Little Ireland.  The houses are close together so if you were walking in the neighborhood you could hear WFUV playing in almost every home, like stereo.  

One of the memories I have of my home was the plethora of Irish humor and signage in our home.  One linen piece that was prized was a piece that contained, "A Mother's Letter."  It was a funny take on  a then common occurrence, a mother writing a letter to her son.  I am providing it here so you can enjoy it as much as I did, and still do.

Dear Son, 
Just a few lines to let you know that I am still alive.  I am writing this slowly because I know you can't read fast. You won't know the house when you come home, we’ve moved. 
About your father, he has got a lovely new job. He has 500 men under him, he cuts grass at the cemetery. Your sister Mary had a baby this morning I haven't found out whether it's a boy or a girl, so I don't know if you are an aunt or an uncle. 
I went to the doctor on Thursday and your father went with me. The doctor put a small tube in my mouth and told me not to talk for ten minutes. Your father offered to buy it from him. 
Your uncle Patrick drowned last week in a vat of Irish whiskey at the Dublin brewery. Some of his workmates tried to save him but he fought them off bravely. They cremated him and it took three days to put out the fire. 
It only rained twice this week, first for three days and then for four days. We had a letter from the under-taker. He said if the last payment on your grandmother's plot wasn't paid in seven days, up she comes. 
Your loving Mum 
P.S. I was going to send you five pounds but I have already sealed the envelope.

I hope you enjoy this post.  I plan to share more Irish humor in my posts.  Stay tuned.


Popular Posts