My parents deserve credit, though we had our disagreements

With Mother's Day just past, I wanted to write appropriately. But, it's hard for me to single out my mother.

Both parents are long dead, forever side-by-side in New Bern. I can't think of one without the other. They're a set, pure and simple.

I appreciate how I was raised. Unfortunately, that's something you don't realize until you look back standing atop a pile of years. It's only then you recognize the gift they gave.

Naturally they made some mistakes, were wrong every now and then. But, notwithstanding such minor imperfections, they were always my parents and never abrogated one iota of that responsibility to others.

I wasn't left to grow on my own in any direction like a weed in the backyard. I was tied to a behavioral framework trellis by many strings. Reduced to simplest terms, I was made to grow in a particular way and direction and, when necessary, "pruned" with a belt or paddle.

I'd be lying if I said the process was perfectly smooth. It wasn't.

My parents had strong opinions about who was acceptable and didn't hesitate to meddle in my personal associations. I understood why they should have a measure of interest but thought their criteria used to form judgments was ridiculous.

Dad had two basic litmus tests, and failure of either constituted immediate thumbs down, regardless of mitigating factors. The two were that you never told on anybody and you never shook his hand with a "dead fish" handshake.

If I wanted a spanking all I needed to do to get it was to tell on somebody to cause them trouble. I wasn't dumb, so it didn't take me more than once to figure that out.

He didn't want a perfect kid, but demanded one who took responsibility for what he did without trying to deflect blame onto anybody else.

To his credit, I never got in trouble for doing anything that I owned up to. Telling the truth was my ticket out of trouble. Lying was death.

Regarding Dad's handshake standard, I simply accepted it as gospel and still do. Strangely, on that subject a "nothing new under the sun" thing came out of the blue the other day. I got a Yahoo news bulletin that a recent study revealed that firm handshakes help land jobs.

Whoa. How'd Dad know that?

My mother had her own judgmental criterion that was so simple. It came down to ears.

Letting kids go anywhere with dirty ears was a clear sign of poor parenting. She formed an immediate unfavorable opinion of the parents of any kid exhibiting such a deplorable condition.

Over the years, I'm sure it was all she could do to resist temptation and haul an offending youngster into our bathroom for a dose of wet washrag.

I argued with her about this more than once. She was rock solid in her calculus. Dirty ears equaled bad parents. Done.

One test of class and acceptability was shared by both parents. Neither could abide chewing with one's mouth open and smacking at the dinner table.

God forbid I bring a noisy chewer home. Their intolerance of this bordered on psychotic, but I have to admit I'm glad they were like that. In retrospect, I'm happy to report that's one social grace I've always had and always will have.

So, this Mother's Day I take pleasure in remembering little things that turned out to be very huge. Children grow up in a different world than I did.

I read an article the other day that said children in England are overmedicated. It went on to say that American kids are prescribed behavioral drugs at six times the British rate. Holy zombie!

"Paper or plastic" has been replaced by "liquid or capsule." I smile wondering whether pharmacists got flowers and candy on Mother's Day. Who could've guessed?

Otis Gardner's column appears here each Wednesday.