Without my mother and the neighborhood moms who raised me, I would not be here | Opinion

A very Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there.

Today, we honor mothers of every kind — biological moms, grandmoms, great-grandmoms, foster moms, surrogate moms and godmoms. In my lifetime, I have been all of the above except one. I have never been a foster mom.

I fell in love with motherhood as I was growing up, watching my own mom tackle this noble job with faith in the Lord and a strong independence. She was a single mom (she left our dad when I was 5 and my brother was 2).

I remember when, fiercely proud, with an I-can-do-it-myself attitude, she turned down going on welfare, rather taking a second job to support herself and my brother, Adam, and me. I was always proud of her and as a young girl, I had compassion for her, and worried about her like she was my child. It seemed like she never rested.

I learned to cook early on, so that I could take some of the burden from her of being a working mom. So, as early as age 12, I was cooking for the family. My mom was wonderful, and kept a spotless house. But cooking just wasn’t her thing.

As soon as she realized that I was taking home economics classes in the seventh grade at Booker T. Washington Junior/Senior High School, which included cooking, she would buy the food and tell me to cook it. I don’t know how much she thought I knew about cooking at the time. It didn’t matter because I was curious anyway. Still, I can’t tell you how many pots of rice I either overcooked, or simply just outright burned. Eventually, I learned to cook a decent pot of rice.

In home economics, I learned to bake. I remember the first time I had Mom buy the ingredients for cinnamon rolls, my brother was one happy camper. I put the yeast in warm milk, made the dough, added the yeast and the rest of the ingredients, shaped the rolls and set them aside to rise. Adam could hardly wait until they were baked.

To this day, I don’t know what I did wrong, but the rolls were so hard you could hardly bite into them. But my brother (bless his heart) thought they were wonderful. He was so proud that his sister had actually baked homemade cinnamon rolls that he bragged to all his buddies. I was so embarrassed. Mom never scolded me about the waste. I appreciated that. It helped me to develop a love of cooking that I have to this day.

Mom often worked two jobs, so I spent a lot of time with my surrogate mothers, who taught me many things that my mom couldn’t teach me. Things like sewing from Ms. Birdie and how to fry chicken from Ms. Ann, the mother of Willie Mae Stephens, one of my oldest friends. She was a great cook and it was sitting at her kitchen table that I learned the secrets to how to make great fried chicken.

It was from other surrogate moms, like Doris Dorsett, that I learned other skills, such as how to take a pot of rice, add some pigeon peas or other beans or peas and make a delicious and filling side dish. Ms. Doris had quite a few children and it was such a joy for me as a girl to play with her babies.

I learned how to pin diapers on her youngest, Richard, who died a few years ago. While Mom and these lovely women stressed the value of education, they knew that we girls would need some “common sense” skills too, as my grandma used to say, to go along with the education. So, without ever knowing it, these dear women helped to prepare me for marriage as well as motherhood. They were my “Village.”

Looking back, I don’t know how I would have made it had they not been in my life. There was so much to learn. And I soaked up all I could from the mothers in my life. I learned early on that while motherhood is a loving role, it is also a hard and often thankless job. Still, the mothers in my life wouldn’t have traded that role for the riches of the world.

Motherhood is especially hard on a mother who is single. One of my sheroes is a woman named Lillie Pearl Kelley. Sister Pearl, as we lovingly called her at my church, reared six children as a single mother.

I never heard her complain about how hard it was on her. She was a domestic worker and lived in the Liberty Square Housing Project. And when she wasn’t at work or church, she took her children — all six of them — with her when she visited the homes of other church members. They were always clean and well-mannered and grew up to be good citizens.

Sister Pearl went home to be with the Lord a few years ago, leaving a legacy of what it means to be a good mother, no matter how hard the task.

So, on this day, I am thinking of Mom, Sister Lillie Pearl, and all the other moms in my life. I am thinking of the sacrifices they made for us, the new shoes they never got for themselves because they put their children first.

Bea Hines with her two sons, Rick, 9, and Shawn, 6, circa 1967. Rick is closest to Bea.
Bea Hines with her two sons, Rick, 9, and Shawn, 6, circa 1967. Rick is closest to Bea.

Becoming a mother was one of the best things that ever happened to me. The Lord blessed me to be mom to two wonderful sons — Rick and Shawn. While Rick left us far too soon, I am so thankful that I got to be his mom.

Because of my sons, I have been blessed to be grandma and great-grandma. And because of dear friends, I have been blessed to be a godmother to many. So on this Mother’s Day, I am basking in the love from all my children, and the warm memories of my own mom, Missionary Ida Belle Johnson. I love you and miss you so much, Mom. Thank you.