“ Since I don’t drive...”

Every time she said those words, and it was often, Mom reaffirmed her independence. The five of us (two brothers, two sisters and me) heard them so often, that it became our family joke. She would say them anytime a part broke on the sprinkler system, or if she had a rude cab driver. The times that her doctor recommended a specialist on the other side of town we heard them. Even when explaining why there was no soda in the refrigerator, same thing. One might think that she was dropping hints that she was looking for a ride. On the contrary, those words showed that she would rather do without something then to bother anyone. This was her way, and we had to respect her for that. If one of us offered to take her somewhere, she would accept it gratefully, but she would never ask. Nor would she ask for help around the house when there were things that needed attention. In fact, I had to plead with her to make a list of things that needed repair, so that when I came to visit, I could do my share without making her feel uncomfortable.

If only she would learn to drive, we thought, she could go where she wanted at any time. Rather, she would walk to her bus stop; wait for her bus in all kinds of weather; then make all the necessary transfers so she could get to her favorite places. She became a bus line expert. As inconvenient as it was, she told me, “I want to do this as long as I am physically able, and I don’t mind the long bus rides.” There were some places within walking distance for her. Winn-Dixie food store, Sears’ outlet, Eckerd’s drug store, and the dollar store all were within her range. That is, until the last two or three years.

Only a few months before her death on November 1, 2002, she boasted about the time she walked all the way home from Kmart, at least three miles from home, because she missed her bus. She was proud of herself, and rightfully so. I don’t know if I would call it blatant stubbornness or just simply, pride. I think it was a little of both, but it was her style. It saddens me now, because when she told me that story, I knew what a struggle it was just to fetch the daily newspaper. Her style as it were, was evident to me from my earliest recollections.

As an example, Dad once tried to teach Mom how to drive. I know that turned out as utter failure. See, Dad taught me how to drive when I was a teen, and believe me, it was no picnic. That’s another story for another time. Though I don’t know all the details, I do know that after her adventure behind the wheel with him, she vowed she would never drive. She never drove again. She would make him take her wherever she needed to go. She had her way of expressing herself in an era when women normally kept their opinions closeted. Nevertheless, she had great love and respect for Dad our family provider and head. She took tremendous pride in us, her children, as she embraced her role as mother and housewife. She knew it was her mission to ensure that each of us grew up to be honest and responsible adults. It was in that capacity that she excelled the most. When I was growing up, I learned many important things from her.     

I vaguely recall walking to school on my first day of kindergarten, but she remembered it as if it were yesterday. In the early 1950’s, a child could walk down the street without fear of lurking evil. With my four younger sibling’s still at home, she walked with me to the corner and held my hand while giving me instructions. At some point, she let me go and watched as I disappeared out of sight. She knew that life would never again be the same. No doubt, I was scared and I know she was worried about me. At the same time, she was very proud of that moment, for both of us. It was the same for each of the others as their turn came up.

Mom and Dad bought the house in Hialeah around 1953, about the time I was to begin the first grade. The elementary school was about a mile or so from the house, but of course to me it seemed like thousands of miles. Mom thought it was good for me to walk to school because it gave me character. After all, she said, “I had to walk several miles through waist deep snow to get to school.” Oddly, it seemed that the distance got longer and the snow deeper every time she talked about her youth. 

Mom grew up in rural western New York during the depression years. With seven sisters and two brothers, life was seldom easy but it was a loving environment. Her father farmed the land and supported the Jarrett family as best he could. When she was twelve, her mother died of cancer leaving the large family in her father’s care. Although the children could not feel close to him emotionally, still he was a generous and hardworking man.  The rail line ran close to the family home. Hoboes who rode the trains knew that the Jarrett home always offered a hot meal when they were hungry. Mom told us, “they were not bad people; just men down on their luck, and it was the right thing to do since we had plenty of food to share.” Such was the sort of upbringing that helped to mold her character. 

Her two eldest sisters became the authority figures for the other children. The family was not rich by any means, but they managed to get by during the most difficult of times. Mom always reminded me that her father demanded one thing. It was that all the children should get their education.  In the small town of Scottsville, the only school was a one-room brick building where all grades up to high school were together with one teacher. That little building is still standing today. It always amazed my siblings and me how that type of system could work. How could any of those kids learn anything? Things were quite a bit different for us.

In South Florida, the weather is rarely an excuse to miss school. There was the occasional hurricane however. It seems that my first experience with a big storm was during the summer of 1960. I remember how exciting it seemed when we heard that a hurricane was approaching. In our naiveté, we couldn’t wait to see what all the hoopla was about. Would the awnings really stop flying objects from coming into the house? What will it be like to hunker down in the cozy environs of our modest home, with only candles for light? Mom and Dad, of course, were greatly concerned. They knew what the risks were, and they took every precaution to ensure that we might stay safe. This particular storm passed dead over us, the eye providing an eerie break for from the howling winds. Mom did not want us to go outside, but Dad let us go. In a macabre kind of way, it was fun looking at the destruction. Our coconut trees had been stripped bare, and one had already fallen crushing the fence. The house itself was in good shape, so far. We gathered up the coconuts that fell knowing that Mom made the best coconut candy around, and we would have a lot of it. After the eye passed, the winds picked up again more intense then before, but it finally ended and the sun shone brightly.

We came through that storm unscathed, although most of our coconut trees were now gone. The house itself, though well built, was not that big. There was only one bathroom for our family of seven to share. We had no air conditioning, and we wonder now how we survived South Florida heat without it. Nevertheless, Mom always kept the home clean and tidy. Visitors could be expected at any time, and usually unannounced. Many of the neighborhood kids considered our home as their second residence. Rare was the time when you would have peace and quiet around the Steding home. While she worked around the house, she loved to sing loudly. Either the radio or the hi-fi was playing, and the music was usually country. She really did have a beautiful voice, and it always made us feel good to hear it. She always had a happy disposition, and even when she had a reason to be angry, it was short-lived. There was always a sense of security and protection with her there.

That is why the Richard Thompson incident was even more shocking to me. I was actually a skinny, cowardly boy. Still, I admit I had an attitude, and I occasionally insulted some of the kids in the neighborhood. Most of them I got along with well enough. However, one kid simply had it in for me. He would go out of his way to harass me.  I was truly afraid of him, and when he came after me, I ran all the way home crying to mommy. It happened more times then I want to admit, but this last time Mom decided that it was time to learn a lesson. A cold chill went down my spine when she forced me to go outside and face my enemy, Richard Thompson.

I was afraid, crying and had no confidence in myself. Mom would not let me come back in the house. Often, when a person feels trapped as I felt I was the adrenaline kicks in. Mom

knew this might happen, and that is why she made me fight him. Through my fear, I lashed out at him in our front yard. Feeling betrayed I had no recourse but to sink or swim. All my frustrations came out as I pinned him to the ground. I trounced him that day, and felt something I had never felt before, satisfaction. Mom took a chance on me in order that I might learn to believe in myself. It was a good lesson for me. She had learned that lesson herself when she moved out on her own after graduating from high school.

She came to live in Miami right after the end of World War II. Her new boyfriend was a man she met on her job with Eastern Airlines. The man would become my father. The baby boom generation was in full swing, and our parents contributed their fair share. It had been her dream all along to have a family of her own.  Mom was generous and thoughtful to all, even helping to care for Dad’s mother for many years. That was a challenge, since our grandmother spent a large part of her life confined to a wheelchair. Grandma was very hard of hearing and had a mean temperament. Mom always kept her cool however. As the years passed, many events changed our lives. I suppose to her the decades seemed to fly by in a flash. Each of us left the nest as we sought our own destinies. Mom and Dad moved to Orlando in the late 70’s. It was great to see them so happy, or so we thought.  Things began to change for her at a fast pace. Dad began an affair that would eventually lead to the failure of their marriage. In what should have been their golden years, Mom was now discovering the empty promises of her life with Dad. In spite of the decline of her marriage, she knew she could always count on the loyalty of her children, and that kept her afloat. Though for so many years she was the submissive housewife, when it became necessary, she acted to ensure her future.

When it became obvious that she might be alone permanently, she filed for divorce. Additionally, she insisted on having the house in her name only. It was truly sad to see all that unfold, but Mom did the only thing she could do to protect herself. All of us agreed that was the only way. Though she was angry, dismayed and saddened by Dad’s betrayal, still she had deep feelings for him. When he died in 1993, it was apparent that she still loved him in spite of all he did to her. She had been managing her home alone for a number of years before, and now the finality of it set in. The remainder of her life, she would keep her independence. However, there was greater sadness yet to come.

In 1998, our dear sweet sister Kathy discovered that she had cancer. She was always the one with the cheery optimism. Kathy had such a wonderful personality in spite of many adversities in her own life. The courage she demonstrated while battling that disease is another story in itself. It was absolutely the hardest thing Mom ever faced when the realization hit that Kathy would not survive. Mom had always said that losing a child is the worst thing that can happen. Mom certainly hoped that none of us would die before she did, but it was not to be. On April 10, 1999, our loving sister died. She was not alone because Mom was there to hold her as she took her last breath.  I remember Mom’s phone call that day, it was the most sorrowful thing she ever said.  Things seemed to go downhill quickly for her after that.

Mom began having aches and pains much more often. Things that used to give her pleasure, such as gardening, became too difficult for her. No longer could she walk to the stores, and even getting to the bus stop was now like climbing Mt. Everest.  In spite of her pain, she managed to attend all of her grandchildren’s graduations and weddings. She made the long trip up to North Carolina for our son’s wedding on July 4.  I saw then how difficult it was for her to get around, yet she endured it. That trip was the last time I saw Mom alive.

I had visited with Mom in Orlando the previous April. While talking with her then, for some reason I reminded her of how she used to sing around the house. I also asked if she ever plays music any more. She told me it had been a long time since she did that. “No reason,” she said, “ I just leave the TV on most of time for company.” As sad as that seemed to me, it made sense. It was a long time since her home was filled with the sound of children. I sensed that she felt now that her mission in life was nearly over.

I got into a routine of sending her E-mail every day. In every one, I always asked how she was feeling, because if I didn’t ask, she would not mention it. It always made me feel good to tell her about things in my life, and she would always be encouraging. I know that was true for all of us. The last time I heard from her was the morning of October 31. She complained that her newspaper was not there yet, and how she hated having breakfast without it. I loved that banter. When we did not hear from her on November 1, a chill went down my spine. Later, when my brother called to say Mom was gone, he said that the newspaper was on the counter.

I thought about that day. I thought about her life, and realized this was how it should be for her. In a way, I felt as though her last few years was like when she walked me to school that first day. I walked her to the corner, and let her go. Somehow, I knew my life would never be the same.