My Other Great Mom

As you know, I count my blessings every day that I grew up with a “colorful” mom, who helped make me the food-loving goofball I am today. But she wasn’t alone because another mom, Mrs. Carolyn Riley, was there reinforcing all the good lessons and helping me to mature. If you ever think what you say and do doesn’t affect your kids’ friends, here’s proof it does.

The first time I met Mrs. “R” she picked me up in the family station wagon. I was fourteen years old, in the back seat complaining to her and Carolyn about a boy I’d liked. He was now seeing some other girl because my very strict parents never allowed me to do anything. As we drove past his house, I’m quite sure I was saying something that smacked of bitterness and jealousy about his new girlfriend. It was the first time I heard Mrs. R. utter the phrase she would use numerous times with me, “Now Frances.”

If I ever said anything unkind about someone, she’d always say, “Now Frances, you don’t know what they might be going through.” I’d think about that and eventually realize I was being a jerk. How many teenagers think about things from the other person’s point of view? (I’m still hanging onto the excuse that my pre-frontal cortex was not fully developed in my teen years.) Thinking about the other person requires actual patience and maturity, which it’s taken me a long time to hone. I’m still working on it! I come by it honestly, being the daughter of a firecracker mom, who vented first, then felt bad and apologized later.

Mrs. R. taught Carolyn to think of others first, which is why everyone in high school thought of her as their best friend. She took the time to talk to the less popular kids, taking an interest in them in an effort to make them feel good. I know Mrs. R. was proud of that.

Carolyn’s mom was the young, thin, sports-playing mother I wished for in my teens. I wrote about her in my Power of Pizza story, where, during the Girls Athletic Association’s Mother Daughter Night, I finally realized I’d been undervaluing my own poor mother for far too long. It took my mom’s homemade pizza, longed for by everyone, to teach me how wrong I was.

Mrs. Riley was also there when I was certain my mom cared more about a Hideous Dachshund ceramic whiskey decanter that I wanted to throw out, than she did me. When I showed up at the Riley house frustrated over my mom’s stubborn resistance to tossing Mr. Whiskey, Mrs. R’s wise words were: “Now Frances, you know your mother loves you!” She voted for keeping Mr. Whiskey for the sake of family harmony and apologizing. He still sits smirking on my desk.

Mrs. Riley wasn’t alone in getting me through life. Mr. Riley, who was busy running a construction company in New Brighton, once stopped mid-workday and took the time to comfort me. I showed up in tears at his workplace in the summer of 1976, upset over my father’s melanoma diagnosis. His daughter, Carolyn, my best friend, worked there and I just needed somewhere to go so I could fall apart. I was almost 21 years old. He sat me down in front of his desk and said a lot of things, but these words are what I remember best, “Your father is one of the strongest men I know, and he will get through this.” It was exactly what I needed to hear and it turned out to be true.

Mrs. R.’s house was the best place to be on Halloween. A giant werewolf stood in the front window. Another one stalked the backyard. Large ghouls and goblins hung out on the front porch and Mrs. R always gave out the candy kids dream of getting…the full sized candy bar collection at Costco. She loved greeting kids at the door. Giving was what she did best.

On Thanksgiving Mrs. R. entertained her grandchildren with the last flight of the turkey, helping the poor bird flap his wings and take a final turn around the sink before he was committed to the roasting pan. She had a fabulous, sense of humor and always laughed at the twisted things Carolyn and I came up with.

When we first became friends, I invited Carolyn to my house on Christmas Eve where she was introduced to the Feast of the Seven Fishes. It included something that English American Carolyn never witnessed; my mom cleaning squid in the sink. She was also introduced to a multitude of seafood pastas, most of which she couldn’t eat because of her tender stomach. The Riley family adopted the fish tradition and Mrs. Riley jumped in wholeheartedly performing “talking” eel videos with creatures they brought back from the fish market.

At Christmas Mrs. R. helped Carolyn hide my then new boyfriend as a holiday surprise. I was visiting the Rileys on Christmas when they walked someone out covered in gift wrap and a bow. He’d flown to Pennsylvania to surprise me at Christmas. They picked him up, brought him home and wrapped him up just for me.

I’ve had a standing invitation to the annual Riley Christmas party for years. I was included in birthday celebrations and warmly greeted by Mrs. R. any time I stopped by. I can’t begin to count the times I heard, “Let me tell you something Frances, I love ya! She always introduced me as her little Italian daughter.

You may not think the kids your children hang out with are paying attention to what you say and do, but trust me, they are. The example you’re setting can make a lifelong difference in them, I know it did for me. I could not be more grateful for Mrs. Riley and the incredible love she always showed. You are truly missed Mrs. R.! Let me tell YOU something, I love you right back and always will. Rest in peace.

Here is Mrs. Riley’s obituary.