I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids' also.

But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.

My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times.You'd think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less--not one hour and one minute.

I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy's pants.

Can you imagine someone actualy hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was.

We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money.

Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends?

The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn't sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.

She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did.

By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us.

If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I'd had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.

Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school.

Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends' report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks.

As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.

My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You're right, our mean mother.

Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did.

She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults.Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean.

Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.

There are many versions of The Mean Mother floating around on the internet.This is the original version and it was forwarded to me by the author,Bobbie Pingaro. It was first published in the Our Sunday Visitor, a Catholic newspaper, in 1967, and again in Guideposts, a magazine, by Dr. Norman Vincent Peale. "Mean Mother" is Copyrighted ©

It seems to have taken on a life of its own, and Bobbie has spent many years trying to keep it corrected.She wrote this because her three children thought she was such a mean mom. She never intended to have it published, but friends and family encouraged her to submit it for publication.

Thank you so much Bobbie for allowing me to use this on my site.When I first read it I certainly identified with it,both as a child and later as a mom myself.

If you are currently displaying "Mean Mother" on your site,would you please use the original and give Bobbie the credit for which she is due.

Some people may think that I am exaggerating,

but I was sure that my Dad had to be one of the meanest Dads around.

He didn't even care,

"What the other kids were getting to do."

My Dad had his rules and he meant them!

Dad always strongly believed that:

Allowances are to be earned

Good grades are to be made

The truth is to be told

Pets are to be fed

To fight in the car is to ask for trouble

Muscles are to be exercised

Chores are to be completed

And that hard work never hurt anybody!

But, Dad didn't just tell me to do these things.

He showed me how to do them and smiled when I got it right.

Come to think about it, I am turning out okay.

Maybe my Dad's kind of meanness just meant he really loved me

loved me enough to make sure I did what was RIGHT.

Some day my kids may think that I'm the meanest parent around.

You know , it wouldn't be so bad if they did

and for the very same reasons!

Jerry & Sandi Knode

copyright 1990

This is the kind of Dad that Chuck and I both had.This is also the kind of Dad that Chuck is. Now our sons are becoming that kind of Dad also.