Why Mothers Get Gray

By Deborah A. Romesberg

At the age of nine, Evelyn’s mom died, leaving Evelyn in the care of her dad, their housekeeper, and two older brothers. Despite the absence of a mother, Evelyn blossomed in her surroundings, excelling in school and growing up to become a devoted wife and mother of three daughters. She poured herself into her family—selflessly sacrificing—determined to give them the loving instruction she was shown at home and more.

Along the way, Evelyn encountered obstacles that would cause the average person to give up in defeat, but not this mom. Her gray hair may have been an indication of these rough times in her life, but Evelyn drew strength from her faith, her family who loved and supported her, as well as the many friends she acquired along the way. These influences, when combined with her sense of humor and enthusiasm for life—with all of its challenges—enabled her to push onward, even when situations seemed hopeless.

In Why Mothers Get Gray, author Deborah A. Romesberg offers a series of vignettes paying tribute to her mother, Evelyn. This often-humorous memoir reveals the deep impact Evelyn left, through her words and actions, on those who knew her well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781973642350

Deborah A. Romesberg

Deborah A. Romesberg is the administrator at her church, where she also creates some of the worship art for various liturgical seasons. She volunteers weekly at the food pantry there. At home, she enjoys researching family history and collecting vintage family photographs. Romesberg lives with her husband in Akron, Ohio. They have two adult married children and four grandchildren.

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 Deborah A. Romesberg.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Front dust jacket photograph by James R. McCourtie.

Back dust jacket photograph by Sheri Drabish-Heller.

Dust jacket design by author.

THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-9736-4234-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-4236-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-4235-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018912078

WestBow Press rev. date: 1/23/2019

For Carl Michael, Jessica, Jonathan, Patrick, Precious, Brandon, Nola, Ava, Lauren, Alie, Sebastian, and Caius

Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life.

—Proverbs 16:31

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

PART 1—Evelyn

PART 2—Mom

PART 3—The Stranger

Postscript

Vocabulary Words and Phrases

Popular Expressions of the Mid-1900

Literary Works

Preface

This book of vignettes is intended to give proper tribute to my mom, Evelyn L. (Sarver) Drabish, whose words of advice and encouragement were most often hidden in interesting stories or quirky quotes from famous (or not-so-famous) persons. Some of the terminology and expressions she used were of her own making, a combination of words intended to more clearly describe a person, emotion, event, or situation. This book is my attempt at revealing how deep an impact she has left on me, my sisters, and anyone who knew her well—through her words and actions.

My regret is that this acknowledgment is a posthumous honor, although a person rarely recognizes the value of another’s well-lived life until that life is over. Had I been able to see the value in these stories and sayings at the time when Mom was alive and of sound mind, then maybe I would’ve expressed my gratitude promptly and directly to her, but probably not. I’m sure she would’ve dismissed any compliments by changing the subject. She was not one to fish for praises. Mom did not care what others thought about her when she was doing what she believed was right and good. To paraphrase a wise monk, (A person) has to have humility to care nothing about what people think or say.¹ Those words describe my mom to the fullest.

Most of the humor or wisdom has come from experiencing for myself the use of these words and phrases in modern-day settings. Often when talking with my sisters, I’ll preface my own words with, As Mom used to say … This indicates to me that language is an evolving art. That’s why it’s imperative that you, the reader, continue perusing through all the pages of this book, including the glossary following the short stories. Another reason for the glossary is that some of my mom’s words and phrases did not fit neatly into the stories I am recounting, even though they were often used in our everyday family conversations.

It is my hope that Mom’s grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and her nieces and nephews will be amused by this compilation of her sayings, clichés, famous quotes, idioms, and made-up vocabulary, which my cousin Sandie fondly coined as Aunt Corky-isms. And even if this vocabulary of Mom’s doesn’t appeal much to today’s communicators, I know that when my sisters and I include it in our conversations, it is one way of keeping the memory of our loved one alive.

This book also provides a glimpse into the spoken American English language from circa 1946 to 1994 and how it has evolved over the years to become what it is today. Take, for instance, the words cobbler, joint, rap, wait, and yak, to name a few. Also included are those multi-ethnic words that were formed when a diverse group of immigrants to America was employed under one roof—be it a coal mine, store, restaurant, and so on—and folks had to learn to communicate with their employer and coworkers.

Acknowledgments

My two sisters, Stephanie and Sheri for their ongoing love, encouragement, and recollections of words and phrases spoken by Mom

My two nephews, Scott and Chris who offered their fond and humorous memories of their grandma

My cousin Sandie who coined the term Aunt Corky-isms

My childhood and adult friends:

Sylvia whose stories of Mom are an integral part of this bigger picture

Skeeter who helped with grammar and punctuation as well as cheered me on to continue with this labor of love

Janet whose hairstyle depicts, in my mind, the perfect salt-and-pepper coiffure (front cover photo)

My high school creative writing teacher, Mrs. Claire who first sparked in me an interest in writing

Ronnie, my husband whose snoring was the impetus I needed to get out of bed at night and go to the spare bedroom to work on this biography

My pastor and friend, Harry Winters for whom I am deeply grateful. It is he who emphasizes the necessity of storytelling

For my book club comrades and their advice on good reads, which introduced me to a variety of writing styles and topics

My hairstylists, Rian and Amanda who have worked wonders at staving off my crown of splendor over the years

Above all, I am thankful to God for giving me the mom that he did. I hope that her life lessons will be passed on from generation to generation in both old as well as newly invented, thoughtful verbal communication—supported by living examples.

Introduction

Oh, for Crying Out Loud!

It was nearing the time for a shift change on the maternity ward at Barberton Citizens Hospital on November 29, 1954, when Evelyn felt the urge to push hard to expel her second baby girl, who was anxious to enter the outside world. It had been eight and a half years since Evelyn’s first daughter, Stephanie, was born, and she had forgotten what an ordeal childbirth could be.

Evelyn recalled the nurse’s bizarre instruction to her. Just keep your legs together a little while longer.

If you think I’m going to delay this birth just so you can clock out, you’ve got another thing coming! was my mom’s telepathic response. To this, she added under her breath, That nurse is tetched! She needs her head examined.

At 3:10 a.m., I was born, shift change and all. That may explain why I was soon to be labeled a night owl.

In spite of that birthing episode, Evelyn would go on to conceive yet a third daughter, Sheri, in May 1956. She didn’t have an easy time with that final pregnancy. She broke out with hives and blisters and wore a housecoat and padded oven mitts to keep from scratching those itchy welts and breaking open the blisters covering her body.

When Sheri was old enough to endure teasing from us family members, we used to say that Mom was allergic to her during the pregnancy, which wasn’t too far from the truth considering how Mom’s body reacted to another person sharing her body space.

Mom had to be injected with a serum derived from the urine of a pregnant mare, as the story went. In the end, Sheri arrived a preemie, four or five weeks early, just four days before Christmas. By that time, Mom had had enough of childbearing. Besides, with three daughters, now came the fun part!

Since Mom had grown up as the only girl in a family with two older brothers, she was definitely ready for a female-dominated household. I think my dad was ready for that too. He came from a family with four boys and one girl.

Mom confirmed that by saying on more than one occasion, Your dad was never sorry a day in his life that he had three daughters.

That comment from my mom always made me feel special, and my dad was such a quiet man when we were growing up that I never questioned why he didn’t tell us himself. Maybe that was Mom’s way of saying that she and Dad loved all three of us, even though we had different gifts and unique personalities and none of us was a son to carry on the family name.

Later on in life, when I was in high school, Mom told me that she had two boy names picked out, just in case she ever gave birth to sons. She liked the names Greg and Gary, but her cousin used them to name her own sons. In a way, Mom ended up with the best of both worlds because today one of her sons-in-law is named Gary.

In 1998, Sheri became the one to carry on the family name in our all-female family when she married and retained her maiden name, hyphenating it with her new surname.

PART I

Evelyn

Evelyn Louise Sarver was born on December 12, 1920, in Berlin County, Pennsylvania, to John Franklin Frank Sarver and Emma (née Lease) Sarver. Evelyn was the youngest of four children, and all of her siblings were boys. The first, Melvin, died when he was only four days old. After him came John Karl and then Leonard, who was known to family and friends as Lennie.

Did Evelyn receive special attention for being the only girl? Was she pampered because she was the baby in her family? The answers to these and many other questions about her childhood are lost forever. However, what we do know—and perhaps it’s all that matters—is what she has told us in the stories she chose to reveal to us, along with the way she lived her everyday adult life. Her life was not glamorous by any stretch of the imagination. However, it was interesting enough for us, her daughters, and possibly for everyone else who knew and loved her.

Pesty Joe

When Evelyn was a preschooler, she got her own way most every morning after her dad would go off to work. She had a set of children’s dishes and pots and pans to cook with, as she wanted to create a kitchen setting of her own.

Evelyn pestered her mom to hang those toy pots and pans on the wall. I’d have a fit, Evelyn recalled.

Then her mom would give in and hammer nails into the woodwork trim around the window in a spot that the curtains could easily cover up. I don’t know how long this continued, but I can only imagine that, when Evelyn’s dad (my grandpa) came home for supper after a long day working in the coal mine, my grandma would hold her breath until the meal was over. Then, after the dishes were cleared from the table and my grandpa was safely out of the room, there would be a sigh of relief from my grandma.

I don’t know if my grandpa ever found out about this covert game played out between mother and daughter, but I think the reason my grandma kept this information from her husband was so that he wouldn’t have to hear how stubbornly his daughter had acted. Nor would he have to stare at tacky window trim peppered with nail holes from the hanging and rehanging of a child’s pots and pans each day. It was a secret just between the two girls. Sometimes it’s better that wives keep these little details from their husbands so they don’t have a fit over something trivial.

Another time, Evelyn recalled how her mom would take her to visit the schoolhouse where her brothers attended class. Evelyn was only three or four years old at the time, and her mom liked to show off Evelyn’s talent for poetry recitation.

Oh, brother! she would say as she rolled her eyes while telling me that story. My brothers and their classmates must’ve thought I was a real brat.

Nonetheless, Evelyn enjoyed school, and any taunting that her brothers might’ve inflicted on her was well worth the praise she received from her parents and the teachers at the school. In later years, she would go on to skip two grades because of her smarts.

As for the brothers razzing Evelyn about her love of reading and her gift for memorization, I’m not sure they did tease her much. The only time I ever heard of any foul play by either of her brothers was when Lennie would hide behind an upstairs doorway in their house and jump out at an unsuspecting Evelyn to scare her. To me, this seemed like a fun thing to do, and I decided to try it on Sheri, my younger sister. After the initial fright, we would both break out into laughter. No harm done.

When Evelyn was a bit older, she was forced to take piano lessons. Although she was book smart, she was not musically inclined. Nor was she the athletic type. Around that same time, she was also learning to ride a bicycle. One day she was pedaling through the nearby cemetery when she crashed into a headstone and fell, breaking her arm. Well, there was a bright side to this story: She didn’t have to continue the piano lessons. But I don’t think she ever learned how to ride a bike either!

Evelyn had a second cousin, Edna Mae, who lived a few blocks away, and sometimes she would spend the night there.

We would be acting a fool, and I would get to laughing so hard that I would start coughing, Mom told me with a grin.

As a child, she had asthma, and later in life, she developed emphysema, which made it difficult at times for her to catch her breath. But laughing, to her, was well worth the suffering!

Evelyn somehow earned the nickname Corky. I don’t know when that came about—whether it was in her childhood years or when she was in high school—but I do know that it stuck for a long time. Some of my cousins still refer to her as Aunt Corky to this day.

Maggots

I can’t recall the context of our conversation that led to this topic, but Mom told me once about a girl she knew in her childhood. The girl had an infection on her arm that would not heal. The doctor covered the area with a type of see-through bandage. Placed beneath the bandage were maggots to gobble up the rotting flesh, making way for the growth of new skin.

I asked Mom if she could actually see the maggots crawling around on the girl’s arm, and she said yes. Ewww! Every time I think of this story, I get all squeamish just imagining the sensation of those creepy-crawly things eating away at someone.

Other Bits of Trivia

When Evelyn was a kid, she said she used to pick wild teaberry leaves and chew them. And instead of gum, she knew of boys who would pull tar bubbles off the street and chew on them. Some people will put just about anything in their mouths.

When walking on the streets through their town, one would have to be careful not to step on road apples, a sure sign that an Amish buggy had recently traveled that way.

Emma

When Evelyn was only nine years old, her mom, Emma, died. Emma had just had a