Sunbonnet Soliloquy

By Jewell Ellen Smith

The Swish of Mama’s Skirts

May is the time to remember our mothers. And, the things we learned as we clung to their skirts.

My mother’s skirts rustled as she walked, especially the one she wore on Sundays. That was her good black dress. Every woman was supposed to have a good black dress. But not little girls.

Mama’s Sunday dress was of silk taffeta, black as the smut in the back of the chimney. And it swished. And it came down to her ankles. When I hid my face in its folds and leaned my ear against her knee, I could hear every sound it made. It was like the wind scattering dry leaves that had danced their way to the fence corners and then fallen asleep.

I wanted a black rustling dress. But Mama said little girls can be pretty in a pink dress or a white one or a blue one -- made out of organdy or gingham or anything -- just so long as it’s your best an d clean and not wrinkled. Lazy folks wear wrinkled dresses.

Everybody should wear their best clothes to church because going to church is going to God’s house. Old people call it “going to meeting,” but they just mean you are going to meet God there. That’s why the church is called the meeting house.

You don’t get to see God, though. God is a Spirit, and you can’t ever see Him. You just feel Him.

But God can see you. He knows what you do, too. And He. knows your name. He writes your name down in a big book. It’s called the Book of the Lamb. Jesus is the Lamb. I think that’s because He was born on Christmas Eve and had to sleep on the hay in a stable, just like a little lamb.

God takes care of little lambs. Little children, too. That’s why you pray to Him as soon as you get your nightgown on. You say, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I p ray thee, Lord, my soul to keep.” Every night.

God doesn’t really care if you kneel down beside your bed or not. If you forget and jump into bed and pull the covers up under your chin, you can still say your prayers. That is, if it’s cold, cold. But if it’s not cold, cold, you had better get out of that bed and kneel down and fold your hands and shut your eyes tight and say your prayers down on the floor.

On Sundays, after you get on your good organdy dress, you have to remember there can’t be any ripping and romping around or galloping like a horse or bouncing like a ball. Little girls have to learn how to be ladies and should practice walking ever so gently and smoothly.

And when you get to the church bench and sit down, you pull your dress down and cover up your knees. Knees are not pretty even if we do have to have ‘em to bend our legs. And when you’re sitting in church don’t swing your feet back and forth.

Besides that, every day -- not just Sundays -- girls have to watch their tongues. Not by standing in front of a looking glass and poking out your tongue like you have to do when you get sick and the doctor comes and tells you to say ah-h-h and stick out your tongue so he can see what kind of a coat your tongue has on it. The way to watch your tongue is to be very careful not to say any ugly words.

Ugly words will make your mouth dirty and you’ll have to wash your mouth out with a rag and soap. The time I called our old milk cow a fool Mama made me wash my mouth out -- with a big rag and lots of soap. Fool is a bad word to call a man or a beast.

Girls can’t have just everything they want, either. Not even on their fourth birthday -- especially if what they want is to eat all the berries in a blackberry pie and leave all the crust.

It doesn’t do any good to cry for more berries, or to give the crust to the cat when your mama’s not looking. Because, when she turns around, the cat will start licking his paw and swipe it across his face and she will know what he’s been eating.

Then, it won’t do any good to cry again or drag your feet when Mama starts leading you out toward the peach orchard. I know. I tried it. And Mama broke off a peach tree limb and switched my legs to a fare-thee-well. Then, after she finished the switching and I finished my crying, she wiped away my tears with her apron and carried me back to the house in her arms.

Before she let me slide down onto the doorstep, she gave me a kiss and a hug. A kiss is called a Yankee dime. A hug is a Spanish nickel. And little girls must learn that to be sweet and nice and not selfish is more important than real dimes and nickels.

On top of that, the way girls act when they are little is the way they will be when they get to be big ladies. Except, of course, then they can wear dresses that crinkle.

So, as these pleasant days of May 1984 pass by and Mother’s Day comes -- this year on May 13 -- I will remember my dear Mama and all that she taught me.

On Mothers’ Day I will go to church, wearing my best dress. And I will hear again the soft rustle and swish of Mama’s skirts.

Published May 1984. Click your browser’s “Back” key to return.