Lessons from My Mother

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far

It’s May, which in my mind means it’s time to look for a new purse. Sure, this sounds easy enough and something most women enjoy. But, as I search for the perfect summer bag, I hear my mother’s voice in my head saying, “Never buy a pocketbook with a black lining.” This simple decree eliminates many top contenders for my 2025 summer bag.

I suppose, if we’re lucky, our parents impart their accumulated wisdom upon us. And while the major lessons are the ones I often think are the most valuable – be kind, work hard, do good – it’s the little things my mother taught me that play like a loop in my head and often bring a smile to my face.

Which brings me back to my handbag search – each time I open up a prospective purse and see that ubiquitous black lining, I hear my mother say, “Oh no, you’ll never be able to find anything in there.” And I must admit that every time I bought a handbag with a black lining, I lived to regret it. What woman hasn’t dug for her car keys in a dark parking lot? Who am I kidding? I’ve dug deep inside my purse, searching for keys or lipsticks while standing in my own kitchen. Pearl divers have an easier time recovering oysters from the sea.

My husband Richard and I recently accepted a last-minute invitation to a charity gala. No problem for me in the dress department because my mother’s fashion mantra was, “When you see a pretty dress you like, buy it; because you can never find a dress when you need one.” (To all the women of South Florida – you’re welcome.)

It was my mother who taught me you can pass off leftover meatloaf as pâté – and I thought of her the other night as I served some “pâté” to my husband with a glass of crisp sauvignon blanc.

Of course, there are plenty of other peripheral lessons from my mom, such as always have cab fare home, everything is better with an egg, humor at the expense of others is never funny, and smaller chickens are tastier than big ones.

Naturally, I am grateful for everything my mother taught me, but I love that I can’t buy a chicken without thinking of her. I love that when I eat cold, leftover meatloaf, I picture her winking at my dad as she offered him “pâté” and a dry martini.

My sisters and I have given ourselves a nickname. Whenever we realize we are doing or saying something just like our mother did, we call ourselves “daughters of Elaine.”

I know that I often sound just like my own mother. I say the same stuff in the same manner, at the same times, with all the same emphasis.

Yes, I’ve become my mother – which, lucky for me, is a good thing. I hope someday my kids can say the same.

Susan Rosser is the editor of South Florida Family Life. She has been known to spend 15 minutes sorting through roasting chickens at Publix to find the smallest one.