The Lark: Vol 5, Issue 17, May 2026

FROM THE ARCHIVES: FOR MOTHER’S DAY 

A Mother’s Day Remembrance

by Bill Hudson

When I was in third grade, my family moved from one Indianapolis neighborhood to another. The new neighborhood consisted of newly constructed tract houses to accommodate the 1950s demand for housing and fueled by the ready availability of subsidized VA and FHA mortgages. Our house was the “Cape Cod” model. Two stories, the top consisting of two large bedrooms, one for my sister and the other for my little brother and me with sloping ceilings. A small hallway joined the bedrooms with stairs leading to the first floor off to the left and a bathroom to the right. On the first floor was a living room, two additional bedrooms – one my parents’ bedroom and the other the guest room/TV room, a second bathroom (what luxury-two bathrooms!) and a combined kitchen-dining room. Connected was a two-car garage. We had joined the post-War “Affluent Society”.

This move to a more comfortable house came with some challenges for me. We moved in the middle of a school year. I had to join a new third grade class in midstream.  Not only was there the challenge of a new teacher and making new friends, the curriculum from my old school and this new one was not in sync – especially in arithmetic. Third grade was the year for learning multiplication tables. My old class, when I left, was only up to multiplying by five but my new class was on multiplying by nine. I had a lot of catching up to do. I was the new kid in school, feeling dumb, and not at all at ease in my new surroundings. Then disaster struck.

We lived about a quarter mile from the school – an easy walk, but my parents decided that eating the offered school lunch was preferable to walking home midday. For the school provided lunch, I was to bring the week’s lunch money every Monday to give to my teacher. This worked fine for several weeks. Then one Monday, I forgot my lunch money. Now the reality was that not only did I forget my week’s lunch money, but my parents must also have forgotten as well. But when I arrived at school, I was conscious only of my own culpability. I was mortified. How could I have been so stupid? And what was I to do? Throughout the morning, I fretted about what would happen when lunchtime came. Would I be punished if I tried to eat lunch at school? Would I be arrested for attempted theft of a lunch? I was afraid to mention my problem to my teacher for fear she would be angry with me. When lunch hour arrived, I left school with those kids who went home for lunch and headed home.

As I approached our house, I spotted my mother in the front yard. I do not know why she was outside. Maybe she was checking emerging flowers in the front yard (it was springtime) or perhaps returning from a visit to the neighbors. When I saw her a wave of apprehension engulfed me. Would she be angry that I came home when I wasn’t supposed to? She soon spotted me coming up the driveway. Upon seeing me she smiled. At that moment I perceived my mother as the most beautiful woman that had ever existed. Helen of Troy, Dido, Aphrodite, Greta Garbo – none held a candle to the wonderful woman who smiled at me as I approached our house. My heart leapt. I ran to her, tears streaming down my cheeks. She opened her arms and brought me to her in a hug. “What’s the matter Billy?” she asked. “Why aren’t you at school?” Through my tears I related the awful story of forgetting my school lunch money and worrying about what to do. “Come inside,” she said. “I will make you lunch.” She did and sent me back to school with lunch money for the rest of the week.

My mother has been gone for many years now, but on Mother’s Day, I remember this moment when a little boy needed his mother’ love and consolation and she was there.