My parents were members of what has come to be called “The Greatest Generation,” those men and women raised during the depression who came into adulthood during the second world war. They were raised in a world in poverty and financial chaos and, as they were coming into their own lives and powers, they were called upon to put their loves and dreams on hold to cross the globe and wage war against evil and tyranny.
When the job was done and the war was won they came home to rebuild their lives, not knowing if they were returning to economic depression but determined to build families and a better world to raise them in. This was the backdrop of my mother’s youth.
It was because of that war that she met my father, who the Army sent to train as a pilot on the plains of west Texas. Like so many of their age, they met, fell endlessly in love, were quickly married and then swept apart on the tides of larger events. He gave her a cocker spaniel puppy to love while he was gone. They wrote each other daily of their love and their lives and prayed for peace and better times. After hard fought years, the peace came. Dad was one of the fortunate ones who came home whole and their lives could begin.
I was born while they lived in a trailer park for veterans attending the University of Missouri on the GI Bill. Before I was two, Dad had graduated and they had taken me back to Texas, near her mother. My sister Pam was born, a home was built and it’s about then that my memories of my mother actually begin.
Thel MacManus’ dream was a compact one: a happy family, well raised and taken care of in a beautiful and happy home. Her deep love and fierce pride in and for her husband and her children was the core of her being. She poured her considerable intelligence, creativity and energy toward that dream. When furniture was old and money was tight, she learned upholstery, made her own patterns and remade the furniture. When a den mother or bluebird leader couldn’t be found, Mom stepped forward because it was required. But then she would do it with energy and flair, making costumes, building props, writing plays and if her son wound up being cast in the lead, a Leo mother could do no less.
School work had to be done and done well. Her impeccable grammar, spelling and punctuation was passed on as surely as her brown eyes. She also fought to pass on her values, integrity, pride and compassion.
In about 1960, with help from her mother, she and Dad bought the home where they would spend the rest of their lives. It had a park with a creek for the kids to play and was close to their schools. It was also close to White Rock Lake, an urban oasis which a girl from the hard baked plains of the Texas panhandle could not help but love. Mom saw to it that the home was beautiful and comfortable, a refuge where we and our playmates always felt at home. In our later lives when any of her children were in transition or crisis, we knew we had a sanctuary and place to heal, a safe harbor from which to set forth anew.
Now looking back over 55 years I have so much appreciation for my mother and what she did and what she built. In so much of what is best in me I see her reflection.
The men of the greatest generation won our freedom and built the engine of plenty which is our economy but the legacy of the women of the greatest generation is our sense of home, the American family and who we actually are.
Thank you Mom. We bid you adieu to rejoin God and Dad and we wish you peace.