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My Mother
( / Ashland, Kentucky)

My Mother

My father taught me how to swear and when to curse
My mother was the one who taught me to read a Bible’s verse,
She was the one who taught me how to forgive and to forget
Whereas my father taught me how to fight, and also how to hit.

My father told me in life many of man’s fights he chooses
My mother cleaned and bandaged my cuts and also my bruises,
And when from father’s advice I came home with a bloody nose
It was my mother who cleaned me up, and then patched up my clothes.

My father took me on our traditional hunting and fishing trip
As though to further our own child and parental relationship,
At night I would sleep underneath the stars with rocks underneath my head
And when I got home, my mother had already prepared my own soft bed.

My father taught me how to ride a bike and also how to swim
He pushed me down a hill, then in the water he just tossed me in,
My mom with her patience she taught me how to drive a car
Now I look at my past, I now understand how I made it this far.

My father taught me how to work on cars and how to cut grass
He also taught me to honor and respect the hard-working middle-class,
My father worked five days a week and eight hours a day in a steel-mill
But, it was mom who daily cleaned our house and prepared our every meal.

My father would always fall asleep watching television every night
Where I would be lying in my bed praying for forgiveness from a fight,
Downstairs cleaning the house and getting us ready for tomorrow was my mother
It was her and not my father that kept us patched up, and kept our family together.

Randy L. McClave

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