My Mom and the Rubber Rat

As a high school trumpet player in the Garden City West Marching Band my brother went to New York City one year. Being the fine big brother that he is—Fred brought me back a souvenir from his trip. He did not bring be back a miniature statue of liberty or a hated Yankees’ baseball cap—instead having heard that one might find a rodent or two within the city limits of the Big Apple, he returned with a rubbery life-sized rat. He could not have given this fourth grade brother a better gift.

I loved the rat. My mom hated it. There is something you should know about my dear, sweet mother. While from time to time she may have sung at church the great hymn “All creatures of our God and King…” I don’t believe she meant it. The truth is she hates God’s critters. She hates mice. She hates lice. She hates rats. She hates bats. She hates snakes. She hates bugs. She hates creepy things that hide under the rugs. (I feel like Dr. Seuss ).

Knowing this fact, did not prevent me from strategically placing my New York Souvenir throughout the house. For instance, I would place my rat in the cheese tray of our refrigerator (a perfectly legitimate storage place for a rodent) or occasionally I would place my rubbery friend in a cereal box and then I would wait for my mom to get some shredded cheddar or her morning Cheerios. At those moments of discovery, my mom would let loose a scream that would make the producers of any cheap horror flick proud. While this hasn’t been scientifically proven, I believe the noise level of one of her hollers would compare to a 747 takeoff. Upon hearing the noises being raised in the kitchen, the windows rattling and the house shaking, I knew my rat had been found, as did half of the population in the Lower Peninsula of Michigan. My mom knew the rat was rubber, that it was not a real rat still she would scream every time as if she encountered a living and breathing cousin of Willard.

One day my rubber rat went “a missing,” and while she never claimed responsibility for the disappearance, looking back now I do recall a hint of a smile whenever I inquired about the whereabouts of my rubbery friend.

My poor mother endured much more than the “old hidden rubbery rat trick.” In the days before video games and cable TV, before microwaves and all of our time saving devises (we had a ringer washing machine, for crying out loud—and the “dryer” was a clothes line in the back yard) my mom raised four kids. There were trips to emergency rooms (my brother found himself there more than the rest of us); sibling arguments for her to referee (as punishment one time she made my sister and brother hold hands and smile at each other—talk about cruel and unusual); meals to prepare (she still makes a yummy stuffed cabbage); sporting events and concerts to attend; cleaning, laundry and all the other household duties; and while not loving the critters she still welcomed into her home pet dogs, hamsters, turtles, fish and a salamander named Sam. (One lesson learned: Don’t play with a pet turtle in the driveway, at the same moment that your mom is returning home from the grocery store. That story does not have a happy ending.). All this to say my mom earned each and every white hair on her head.

This Sunday is Mother’s Day! It’s a day to honor all our moms (white haired and otherwise) and to tell them thanks for all they have done. So take time to say “Thanks”-- even if your mom accidently squished your pet turtle or in some other way was less than perfect. Don’t let Mother’s Day pass without thinking of and/or praying for the lady that brought you into the world and in most cases did so much more.