<< Back 5/8/02 A Mother’s Day tale of devotion to a child By Marshall Frank This is for all you single mothers out there, working a job, keeping your sanity and struggling to raise a child. Let me tell you about Vivien. Born to Norwegian parents in 1910, Vivien grew up a phenom of sorts — valedictorian, classical pianist, professional dancer and later, a dynamic songstress of the vaudeville era. A glamour girl with bright red hair and a dazzling smile, Vivien’s life was a Cinderella story, indeed, for while the nation struggled with the Depression, she rode the waves of show business success married to one of the biggest stars of the day. She had two boys, blue-eyed Bennett and a blond curly-headed baby she always called Squidgie. They were destined to follow in their parents’ footsteps. As bad luck would have it, Vivien’s world collapsed over a harrowing eight-year period. Her husband suffered with bouts of schizophrenia until he died at the age of 42. Her older son, Bennett, drowned in a lake two years later at the tender age of 7. Now focused on caring for her remaining son, she saw he had musical talent and started him on violin lessons with an Italian maestro at an early age. Vivien remarried, only to become a widow once more when Squidgie was 10 years old. Vivien still had her good looks and dazzling smile. Men hounded her. She could have had the world at her feet for the asking, but she was hell-bent on making sure Squidgie came first, before anything, before anyone. For the next six years, the two lived alone while she worked at dance studios for a paltry income, enough money to feed Squidgie, sew his clothes, send him to school and ensure he had weekly violin Lessons. She could have gone out night after night, but her place was at home with her son. Her mission: to love and to guide. Squidgie had the makings of a prodigy. His teacher raved of his talent. Vivien envisioned him standing before a symphony playing Beethoven’s “Concerto in D Major” at Carnegie Hall. “Practice! Practice! Practice!” Squidgie often rebelled, but Vivien knew he was special and naive, so she forced him to practice one, two and three hours a day. Sure, he would rather have been somewhere else, like playing at a ball park or carousing with friends. And sure, she could have taken the easy road, acquiesce to her son, bring in the sitters and go out for a good time. But she saw something in his future. She took charge and forced him to practice. “Some day you will thank me,” she said. Life fell more into the abyss, as depression drove Vivien to the bottle. Squidgie would often drag her into her bed. Day and night, he would deal with one indiscretion or another. She was imperfect, to be sure. But there was one thing for which Squidgie had no doubt — he came first, before anything or anyone. He was the light of her life. Her love for him was unconditional. Sometimes, Squidgie would pretend to be asleep, but lay awake late at night listening to her playing her piano in her solitude. If he placed his ear to the door, he might even hear her silver voice singing melodies from the good old days. “Practice, Squidgie,” she insisted throughout his teen years. “If you can play music, and play it well, you will never be lonely.” Vivien eventually remarried one more time, only to be widowed again before she succumbed to cancer at 55 years of age. As with all of us, there were many things she wished she could have done differently, but she was never sorry for pushing her son into music, despite his objections. Because she saw a special light in him, she was more concerned for his future than for her present. As fate would have it, Squidgie strayed from the plan and never did make it to Carnegie Hall. But while he worked for 30 years in government service, he still enjoyed participating in chamber quartets and local symphonies, and playing for friends now and then. And when life seemed bleak during his dark years, alone, depressed, he would often turn to the violin and play within his solitude to allay the loneliness. Vivien had been right all along. Today, at 63, Squidgie looks back and realizes that his strength and stability is a direct product of a mother who placed him on a pedestal, numero uno, in her life, no matter the sacrifices. If more mothers did that, it would be a happier world. With great reverence, he has never forgotten her struggle to keep him focused on that little instrument of wood and how often she told him, “Someday you will thank me.” She certainly was right about that. He had the opportunity to tell her over and over as he cared for her dying soul 24 hours a day in the final six months of her life. And when Mother’s Day rolls around every month of May, he reflects on the mighty ocean where her ashes were spread and tells her again. It is a day, not just for obligatory gifts, but a time to utter those words and demonstrate how much we should extend our appreciation for having had a mom who put her kids numero uno. As I close this little story, permit me a moment to reflect once more on the blue expanse we call the Atlantic. Thanks, Mom. (Marshall Frank is a retired Metro Dade law enforcement officer and novelist who lives in Maggie Valley. He can be reached at mlf283@aol.com)