Small in stature
But not in heart
Her present and past
Never too far apart
…. Skeletons stay close by her side

Slaying demons
Incredible strength from within
They beat her once
But never again
Can’t break her… though many have tried

She’ll invite you in
Make you leave through a maze
Shows little sympathy
Puts your head in a daze
Confusing and cunning
… I love her anyways
If she lets you… you can love her anyways

Talks in riddles
Only few understand
Keeps you off balance
Obeying every command
Seems happy… but you’re never really sure

A honey badger
You shouldn’t attempt to pet
She’ll make you look foolish
Quick to regret
… Don’t ever underestimate her

She’ll invite you in
Make you leave through a maze
Shows little sympathy
Puts your head in a daze
Confusing and cunning
… I love her anyways
If she lets you… you can love her anyways

She’s a special woman
Shrewd and smart
Small in stature
Big in heart

Never get too comfortable
She’ll keep you on edge
… But you’ll love her anyways
If you’re lucky enough and she lets you
… You can love her anyways

When you look up the characteristics of the honey badger, it is described as; small in size, can adapt to any environment, thick skinned, ferocious, extremely intelligent, strong, tough, fearless when cornered, and known to fight off predators much larger in size such as lions and leopards. In fact, the honey badger is listed as “the most fearless animal in the world” by the Guinness Book of Records. The female honey badger is also known for raising her young alone, with no male involvement. So when I decided to write a song about my mother, the honey badger seemed to be the ideal comparison; although I’m pretty sure she won’t be too flattered with it. None the less, all those characteristics describe how I felt about her when I was growing up.

My family’s 1st Christmas in St. Catharines, Ontario (1966) after moving from Miramichi, New Brunswick

My father was a great provider for our family and the hardest working man I’ve ever met, but it was my mother who raised us. For most of our childhood she stayed at home and looked after me and my siblings. She had thirteen siblings of her own so she was no stranger to large families, but it still must have been hard raising six kids only nine years apart, while she was only in her late twenties. Funny how you never really think of your parents as young when you’re a kid, it’s only when you reach certain milestones that you think about it.

I remember my mother doing laundry in our old dungy basement with a washing machine that had calendar rolls to squeeze the water out. Her hands would be so raw they were purple from all the diapers and clothes she’d wash and hang up outside. I wonder how many twenty-something’s could or would do that today? My mother was a very resourceful woman as well; in the winter she would make our mittens and scarves, and she’d patch the knees of our jeans so we could get more life out of them. She’d even mix instant milk powder and water to regular milk to make it go further. I’ve yet to meet someone that could cook like her either, especially the turkey dinners we’d have at Christmas. She could make a meal from nothing and we’d never waste a spoonful. My mother’s rule was you took what you wanted, but you ate what you took or you stayed there until it was gone. To this day I have trouble leaving food on my plate.

She also baked her own bread, buns, pies, and cookies; all of which would make any bakery today look silly in comparison. I couldn’t wait for her bread to cool so I could be the first one there to cut the end piece.  We had no idea at the time how great her baking was, but her cookies were awesome trading material at lunch time. I’d often trade my peanut butter cookies for Twinkies or a Joe Louis. I just couldn’t believe kids would trade their store bought sweets for my mom’s peanut butter cookies… I mean they had cream filling and their own packaging; did it get any better than that? Christmas was especially nice when the house smelled of coconut cookies with a jam filling, shortbread cookies with icing and a cherry in the middle, and Christmas cookies in the shape of pine trees. The only thing she didn’t bake at Christmas was the four pound fruitcake my grandmother would send us every year; my dad loved it, but I only ate it because I thought she’d feel bad if I didn’t. I’m sure I’d appreciate it more now.

Not everyone appreciated my mother’s rearing style. She was only four foot-ten inches tall, but we were all scared to death of her. Even my dad, who was over six feet tall, wouldn’t dare lock horns with my mother. She was strict, tough, and seldom showed any sympathy for being weak. If you got in a fight, you better have stuck up for yourself. If you hurt yourself, go clean it up and put a band-aid on it. If you were sick, go to bed until you feel better. If you got in trouble, well, you just didn’t tell her.

No, my mother was no coddler once you learned to walk on your own. She taught us to be strong, independent, to stand up for ourselves, and to tough out minor aches and pains. She also taught us to be respectful and well mannered or feel the wrath of her punishment. Unfortunately, we didn’t always show the same respect for each other, and the punishment was just as harsh.  I remember her catching my two younger brothers and I fighting; she stood at the bottom of the stairs going up to our bedroom with a belt in her hand and just said “get up those stairs”. You never seen such a shuffle as to who would go first, and you never dared to say no; I think I still have a few marks over that one.

My mother ran a tight ship, but at such a young age with six kids and a house to run; I’m not sure she knew any other way. She was in a strange city, my dad was always working, and the “how to” manual was missing. As tough as she was, she had her soft moments as well, especially when it came to the other kids in the neighborhood. As times got a little better and she got a little older, the softer side of my mother would appear more often. I remember one Christmas when my kids were very young, we were out together and she just handed me a few hundred dollars. I was struggling and needed the money desperately, but refused to take it. She just said “I know you need it and would never ask, so let me help out this one time”. I reluctantly took the money; it was probably the nicest and most timely gift I’ve ever received.

To this day, as her grand-kids tease her about her height and gently hug her good-bye like she’s a frail little doll, I can only smile at what they must see. As they see their muma as this kind and patient little lady, I still see the strong, courageous, and resilient woman I’ve always known and loved.