Wisdom Has a Voice

Ties to the Past

June 22, 2012 By Admin 9 Comments

By Sara Etgen-Baker, author of “Journey with Mother” in Wisdom Has a Voice: Every Daughter’s Memories of Mother

When I think of aprons, the first image that comes to mind is one of my mother or my grandmother wearing an apron while cooking for the family. I realize that image is a bit old fashioned; yet, there was a time—and not so long ago—when every woman proudly wore her apron. Aprons were a given—a part of the feminine culture—for they were synonymous with woman’s domesticity and her wisdom.

I remember that my mother and both of my grandmothers put on their aprons as soon as they entered their kitchens and wore them throughout the day as they cooked, completed daily chores, and selflessly cared for their families. In fact, all three ladies made their own aprons and expressed their personalities and individuality with them. As I recall, my Grandmother Stainbrook made bright colored, bib-style aprons that tied in the back with deep pockets. My other grandmother preferred delicate, pastel colored half aprons that complemented her outfits and accentuated her tiny waist.

Bib Apron

My mother—a stout and practical woman—used bib-style aprons for daily use that she created from fabric remnants. She generally wore her bib-style apron to protect the dress underneath saving her fancy half aprons with ribbon, lace, and appliqués for holidays and entertaining.

Half Apron

Mother used her bib apron for almost everything—dusting furniture, drying my tears, picking up hot pans from the oven, wiping the sweat from her brow, bringing in plums that had fallen from the trees, and carrying my ailing kitten from the backyard into the house. Her bib apron pockets were always full and housed such items as clothespins, handkerchiefs, band aids, rubber bands, loose change, Life Savers candy, my jacks, and my brother’s marbles.

In fact, the first garment I ever made was a half apron—my 8^th grade sewing project in Home Economics at Austin Junior High in 1963. After buying the apron pattern for 65 cents, mother didn’t have enough money to purchase additional fabric. So, I was forced into using the remnants of kitchen curtain material that my mother had purchased at J.C. Penney—a white fabric covered in small yellow roses.

During that first semester’s apron project, I learned basic sewing how-tos, such as cutting out a pattern and correctly pinning it to the fabric; properly cutting the fabric; basting a garment; threading the sewing machine; using the foot pedal or knee pedal; gathering skirt material and attaching it to a waistband; making and attaching pockets; and hemming a garment.

At semester’s end, I was overjoyed when I completed my apron; yet, I must confess that I felt a wee bit like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind, for—like Scarlet—I looked as if I were wearing a curtain. Perhaps my adding the green and yellow rickrack to the waistband, pockets, and hem gave my apron that just hung in the window appearance. Who knows! Still, I proudly wore my apron second semester whenever we cooked or completed chores in home economics class.

In 1963 I understood and accepted that aprons were a part of being a wise homemaker. However, sometime in the late 60s aprons took a wrong turn, as they became symbols of feminine oppression. As the women’s movement took hold, aprons seemingly disappeared from favor and the feminine landscape. I, too, cast off my apron as I left home, attended college, and joined the workforce.

Now, I find myself fascinated with aprons, for they reflect how my foremothers saw themselves; how they functioned in society; and how culture viewed them. Each apron intrigues me, for I see that each one has a unique story to tell with its own wisdom and ties to the past.

By Sara Etgen-Baker, author of “Journey with Mother” in Wisdom Has a Voice: Every Daughter’s Memories of Mother

Filed Under: Anthology, Legacy Tagged With: daughter, legacy, memoir, mother, traditional, wisdom

Writing for My Mother

February 25, 2012 By Admin 14 Comments

By Angela Tung, author of “Puo-puo” in Wisdom Has a Voice: Every Daughter’s Memories of Mother

“Women, show your fiction to your mothers, not your lovers.” Mary Gordon

“Don’t tell outsiders the ugly things that happened at home.” Chinese idiom

When I set out to write “Puo-puo,” an elegy to my grandmother who passed away in November 2010, my aim was to write something that my mother could read. I’d write about my grandmother’s amazing life, how she lived through the Sino-Japanese War and the Communist Revolution, how she, my grandfather, and their children fled from China to Taiwan. How despite poverty they raised five children who all ended up going to grad school in the United States. How she ruled the roost with her tough love, loud laugh, and amazing cooking.

But the essay turned out to be more than that.

I don’t usually let my mother read my writing. I tend to write about very personal things: divorce, infidelity, sex, and relationships. While some women can talk to their mothers about such things, I cannot. My mother knows about my divorce and that my ex-husband cheated, but I’d prefer not to give her the chance to say once again, “You should have told us right away,” instead of three months after we had already separated, “You should have left him right away,” instead of almost a year after his confession, and “You shouldn’t have been with him in the first place.”

I write to understand the past; my mother only seeks to undo it.

As I wrote “Puo-puo,” I found writing about my tumultuous relationship with my mother to be inevitable. Her mother’s opinion, always old-fashioned, sometimes backwards, and so important, often clouded her judgment. How dare I want to become a teacher! Didn’t I remember my grandfather earned so little as a teacher in Taiwan? Could I lose some weight before Puo-puo’s visit? Couldn’t I date a guy who was taller and better looking?

I found myself having to admit that my grandmother, like my relationship with my mother, was far from perfect. I found myself having to mention my divorce and my ex-husband’s infidelity, which most of my mother’s friends, seven years later, still don’t know about. The reasons she hasn’t told them are strikingly similar to the reasons I didn’t tell my parents for so long: they don’t want to get blamed. How could you not see what was going in your daughter’s life? Their friends might say. How could you not stop it? Why did you let her marry him in the first place?

And why my mother would need to share “Puo-puo” with her friends is another story. Her children’s achievements aren’t real until they’ve been acknowledged by friends and relatives. This is why our diplomas hang in the room where they play mah-jongg, why when I was a child, my mother would strewn around the house, as though by accident, my elaborately designed book reports. I imagine she’d have wanted to display copies of Wisdom Has a Voice on the coffee table, where a friend might idly pick it up, leaf through it, and either spot my name or ask, “Ay, Ai Li, why do you have this book?” and she’d say, in her best humble bragging voice, “Oh, my daughter has a story published in it.” But I still have yet to send her the book.

Mother and Angela

I tell myself hiding my writing is to protect my mother, but really it’s to protect me.

Recently I told my mother something I’ve yet to write about. I hid it for the same old reasons: I didn’t want her to be hurt; I didn’t want her to be blaming me for what went wrong. Finally, during a visit, I decided I had to ‘fess up.

Surprisingly she was happy. Not happy about what happened but that I had shared this intimate part of my life with her.

This week I finally put a copy of Wisdom Has a Voice in the mail for my mother. I hope she likes it, but even if she doesn’t, I’ll keep writing.

By Angela Tung, author of “Puo-puo” in Wisdom Has a Voice: Every Daughter’s Memories of Mother