Manna for Mom.

When I was a kid, religion was always a confusing thing to me. My Dad was a Mormon who took us to church on weekends and Mom was some sort of Flying Spaghetti Monster worshipper who showed us her own views on life during the other days of the week.

As a teenager, I was basically a good kid but subject to the peer pressure of my schoolmates. Therefore, I would occasionally don my clip-on necktie and head over to the Edison Ward in hopes of getting invited to a dance or a maybe a sledding outing. I never believed any of the teachings. It just seemed like the popular thing to do.

One Sunday morning at breakfast, Mom asked if I would please go to church that day. I never got the impression she was that interested in my eternal salvation so I was somewhat taken aback. That Sunday was an important one. It was Mother’s Day and the church leaders were handing out free tomato plants. Those long, leggy plants were given to the kids to show their Moms their undying gratitude—their thanks for being born and being put up with. Being a dutiful, grateful son, there was no question I would go to church that Sunday—and I did.

You see, Mother’s Day was the one day a year my Mom received a blessing from above—or at least from Redwood Nursery.