Here it is, another week has gone by and I was supposed to have an ‘extra hour' of time to get everything done. I'm not really sure what to do with my extra hour, but I have this sinking feeling that it's already gone, just like so many other hours in life.

Someone else must have taken it while I wasn't looking, like those hands that dart in unseen to snatch the last cookie from the jar, leaving one to wonder, ‘I didn't eat that, did I?" More often than not, I really don't know the answer.

Which may be fine in the long run, since there isn't much guilt involved in forgetting something. Since guilt is such a powerful control device, used by mothers everywhere, I suppose forgetting still can be turned into an occasion for guilt given that there is ample time for forethought and planning.

Case in point? Forget your mother's birthday and then buy a nice present for your father. Then you'll see what it's all about. Of course, my father is deceased and my mother was born in January, so I won't have to worry about that one. How about this, buy a nice present for your mother's birthday and forget your wife's birthday. That'll get you a healthy dose of maltreatment for sure!

I'm not really sure that all women do this, but I can say that I've seen it in my own life a time or three. I dare not name the source of the guilt lest I be reminded of it later, as in, "I can't believe you put it in the paper that I tried to make you feel guilty. That's so embarrassing. I can't believe you'd do that to me, of all people, after all I've done for you...." If we were in a large room right now, I'd probably ask for a show of hands and most of the honest mothers would have to admit that they might have done that before. I always work hard to not make my kids feel guilty. It's a self-defeating complex that ends up making one feel unworthy. However, it helps prevent us from forgetting certain holidays, to be sure. I always try to use another approach. If things aren't going where I'd like for them to, I usually just say so directly. As for my birthday, if I don't get a cake or anything (like last year), I complain bitterly for a few minutes and then just forget about it. Until times like these when I remember that I didn't get a cake and start to feel sorry for myself. After all, I've only gained five or 10 pounds in the last year or two. If I had eaten that whole cake, I might could have doubled that, not to mention the cavities I missed out on.

To be honest, I'm not really much of a cake eater. For the most part, I'll eat a small piece to make a show of joining in at a party if I feel that's socially necessary, but I never seek out cake for enjoyment. I prefer to eat an extra plate of food and just skip the dessert altogether. If I have room for cake or pie, I could probably have a second helping of whatever it was that I liked well enough to clean my plate to start with.

So I can't really make anyone feel guilty about not making a cake, although I might try if I thought it would be funny. Sometimes I find humor in strange places, and teasing people about something that I don't really care about somehow strikes me as funny.

I'll have to pick on my mother a little, who sometimes used that ploy to her advantage in days gone by. At times my parents did sacrifice for me and give up things they really needed for themselves to be ridiculously good and loving parents. However, at times my mother would beat me to death with a guilt trip. Like the time she sneaked in and found the half gallon of Rebel Yell that had been set aside for my 15th or 16th birthday party and poured it down the sink with all my friends watching. I can still hear that glug, glug, glug sound in my mind. If it matters, I don't think I got a cake that year, either.

Of course, she was right to do that. But I still had to hear about it for weeks. "Didn't we raise you better than that? I can't believe you would have alcohol at my house! I'm so disgusted with you I could just die. What's wrong with you? What did I ever do to deserve this." I had to be careful even asking for lunch money for a while. "What do you need money for? To go out and buy booze with your no-good friends?" She could go on like that for what seemed like hours.

Needless to say, I quit drinking that very day. Well, at least until I could sneak out and find something else. Between that sneaking cigarettes, I was in trouble more than I should have been. But I turned out fine, just ask my mother.

I was a really good boy until I learned that an older lady with a drinking problem once lived on the farm and she would stash bottles in the farm buildings. I'm guessing she would have a nip as she went about her chores and didn't want everyone to know about it. I remember finding an unlabeled fifth of something like rubbing alcohol under hay in the barn loft and some high-dollar whiskey near the chicken house. Most of the bottles were only partially filled and some of the corks were crumbling, but the contents were fine.

Train your child up in the way he should go, I've read. They tried hard, but as you can see, after all the meanness I got into, it's no wonder I felt guilty.
 

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