In going through the mementos my parents kept, I’ve discovered another way in which my mother and I were alike. We both wrote poetry to our families as children.
Here’s a poem I wrote for Easter as a child. I can’t date it exactly, but because I referred to “grandmother” and not “grandparents”, I think I must have written it after my grandfather died and before my grandmother remarried—which would put it at Easter 1966 or 1967, when I was ten or eleven years old. The handwriting looks about right for me at ten or eleven. (Another clue is that I refer to only one brother, and my second brother was born when I was eleven and a half.)
I had no memory of writing this poem, but the handwriting is clearly mine, so I must own it.
Then I found a poem my mother wrote her mother for “her special day”. She dated her poem May 9, 1948—Mother’s Day of the year when she was fifteen. Her poem shows more maturity than mine did. (Her handwriting remained quite similar until the last couple years of her life, when she struggled to write anything.)
Neither poem is very good. In fact, both are quite dreadful.
But when I found them both on the same day, they made me laugh. Another example of how my mother and I were alike. Not only do the poems contain similar themes, but the pages are both decorated with flower borders, in typically young girl fashion.
I will end by wishing you all, as I titled my poem—
Happy Easter Family! . . . (and friends)
These are so sweet, Theresa. I love how you both framed your poems with flowers.