Beyond the Byline: Happy 99th to my mom

WILKES-BARRE — It’s been 56 years since my mom left this world — her birthday is Wednesday, Sept. 25.

She would be 99.

Dad left us in 1995 — 29 years ago.

I have missed them both every day since and I can honestly say that I have thought about them every day and I call on them for guidance every day.

Still, it’s difficult to say the least.

And being an only child has made it even more difficult — no siblings to lean on and share stories and memories with to cope.

And with the loss of material things like photographs and personal items of both my parents thanks to the Agnes Flood of 1972, what remains are my memories, which remain crystal clear.

And I have those lessons I learned from them that have gotten me through life — sometimes very difficult and trying times.

So as I get ready to celebrate mom’s birthday, I again tell you about who she was and why I miss her so much to this day. And dad too — they were truly amazing people and I am grateful that they were my parents.

Elizabeth Kraszewski O’Boyle and William O’Boyle taught me just about everything — to be kind to people, to respect people’s feelings, to listen, to help, to care. To value family and friends. To value community. To help others. To be there when needed.

I clearly remember my mom’s red vegetable noodle soup, her decorative Christmas cookies, her meticulous housekeeping chores, her witty sense of humor — accompanied by her infectious laugh — her love of family and friends, her respect and admiration for people of all ethnicities, her devout religious beliefs, her welcoming personality, her determination to live life as normal as anybody else, despite having to wear a cumbersome brace on her polio-afflicted left leg.

Our house was somewhat unique — three people and four good legs among us — I had two of them, my mom wore a brace on her left leg and my dad lost his right leg in World War II. And trust me, I was the least productive of the three of us when it came to household chores.

The youngest of nine children born of Polish immigrants, my mother was far ahead of her time. I learned many lessons while growing up on Reynolds Street in Plymouth —lessons that live within me as she does.

For instance, next door to us lived a family of little means. They had three children — one was mentally challenged. His name was Chuckie.

Every summer day in our neighborhood the Mister Softee ice cream vendor truck would drive through, dispensing ice cream, milk shakes, sundaes and other treats to kids in need of their daily sugar fixes. I was no exception. Every day I would ask my mom for money to get a Mister Softee treat.

My mother would comply, but always with a condition — first ask Chuckie what he wants and get it for him. And I did — Chuckie would request his usual — a vanilla cone. Once I delivered that to Chuckie, then and only then, would my mother give me the necessary financing for my treat. And all this would happen in full view of my neighborhood pals who were already slurping shakes or shoveling down banana splits.

But it was a lesson learned, as was the case so many times with my mom. It’s a lesson that will stay with me forever.

I remember hearing her cheer when I played Little League baseball and, later, junior high basketball.

“Come on Billy!”

I remember her getting all dolled up and the aroma of Jean Nate as she prepared to go out with my dad on a Saturday night.

I remember her driving and I remember her walking — both challenging for her. One time as we walked down Reynolds Street to catch a bus to go “over town” to see “Ben Hur,” she fell and hurt her legs. They were bleeding. We returned home where she washed her legs and applied Mercurochrome — a miracle drug back in the day — and Band-Aids. We then walked to the bus stop and got to the movie on time.

My mom laughed as we finally got our seats on the bus. That was her way. She never let anything get her down.

And she knew how to lift others up. Like “Pencil” Pete Chaivanik — who had cerebral palsy and who sat in his wagon and sold pencils in front of Fowler Dick & Walker-The Boston Store (now Boscov’s) in downtown Wilkes-Barre to make a living.

I think about Pete often — a determined man who never let his disability get him down. A man who made sure to go to work every day, smile at the world and earn enough to help put food on the table.

And Pete always did this — every single day — with an infectious smile and always with a thank you.

Pete couldn’t walk. His speech was difficult to understand. But he had a smile that could warm the coldest of hearts. And whenever someone would drop some money in his cup, he would smile as he struggled to say “Thank you.”

Every time my mom and I were shopping in Downtown Wilkes-Barre, mom made a point to visit Pete and drop a donation in his cup. She always told me to say hello to Pete and to take a pencil because Pete wanted to be sure you got something back.

My mom would say Pete would be insulted if I didn’t “buy” a pencil.

So many lessons learned from Mom and Dad — lessons I will never forget.

So on Wednesday, Sept. 25, I will celebrate my mom’s 99th birthday and, as everyday, I will remember her, rely on her and I will miss her.

And between the tears, I will smile.