“If your mother says she loves you, check it out,” is a line that originated at the City News Bureau and first appeared in print in the baiduhai in 1970.
Editors and journalism professors have used the line to teach young reporters to never assume anything. Get multiple sources. Corroborate everything. Because the line has become accepted as one of the foundational truths of the profession, a certain taboo has developed when journalists write about their mothers.
Some editors cringe at the prospect of reading a colleague’s piece about his or her mother. There is a sense that stories about mothers can be sappy soliloquies because the writer loses all objectivity.
I have to push past all that, though, and tell you that our mother celebrated her 97th birthday Sunday at her Lisle home with the eight youngest of her 12 children: Judi, Bud, Liz, Frank, Mike, Sue, Jeanne and Ted.
Our three oldest surviving siblings live out of state: Stan (Colorado), Tom (California) and Jo Marie (Minnesota). Our father, Jozef, died in 2006 at age 84 and our brother Jim died in 2009 at age 59.
We are all grateful that Mom remains in relatively good health. She continues to live independently, for now, but is transitioning to assisted living. She moved to a facility for older adults in 2016 after living for nearly 60 years in a southwest suburban Countryside home where I was raised.
Our parents married in 1945 and lived in Michigan for a few years while Dad earned an engineering degree. He flew B-17s over Italy during World War II after growing up on a farm near Bridgman in southwestern Michigan.
Mom grew up in a bungalow near 71st Street and Western Avenue in Chicago’s Marquette Park neighborhood. All four of our grandparents emigrated from Poland.
People who grew up during the Great Depression were taught to value every penny. Mom told me she used to pick up nickels that drunks would drop in the snow on sidewalks. Her father worked as a night watchman at a factory and her mother worked as a cleaning lady.
When Dad finished college our parents moved to west suburban La Grange. They lived in a tiny house for several years with the oldest seven kids until they built the place in Countryside in 1957.
La Grange is nice but it’s expensive to live there nowadays. Neighboring Countryside is relatively affordable. Car dealerships lined La Grange and Joliet roads and Countryside had so much sales tax revenue it didn’t levy a municipal real estate tax.
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As kids we could ride our bikes to Western Springs, Hinsdale, Burr Ridge and other nearby communities where real estate today is valuable. Fifty years ago the area was much more modest.
Our parents would often load many of us into a gray Ford Econoline van and take us to Michigan to pick fruits and vegetables. We picked blueberries, strawberries, apples, peaches, green beans and whatever else was in season. Our parents made jellies and jams and canned food. We also had a big backyard vegetable garden.
We would go to a free beach and swim in Lake Michigan at the end of a long Saturday working under a hot sun. Sometimes our parents would treat us to vanilla ice cream cones at a Dairy Queen in New Buffalo, Michigan, on the drive home.
Other times we didn’t stop for ice cream. Our parents would tell us it was because we had misbehaved but the real reason was they didn’t have enough money to buy cones for all the kids.
I cannot speak for all my siblings but I had an absolutely wonderful childhood. I never felt deprived of anything. There were always a lot of other kids around to play with and have fun. We went camping and swimming in the summers and sledding and ice skating during the winters.
We rode bikes, hiked, picnicked and visited zoos and museums on free days. Our parents raised 12 kids on a single income and they did it well. We all get along and love and support each other.
When I was in kindergarten, Mom went back to school. She had worked as a nurse briefly during the war. She earned an associate degree at College of DuPage in Glen Ellyn back when it had temporary buildings and gravel parking lots.
Then she earned an bachelor’s degree in nursing from Lewis University in Romeoville. The Lincoln Academy of Illinois honored her in 1977 as the Student Laureate recipient for Lewis. The academy recognizes students who contribute to the betterment of humanity and who exhibit dedication to principles of democracy.
Then she earned a master’s degree from Loyola University Chicago and a doctorate in education from Northern Illinois University. She taught nursing at Lewis for 10 years. Her nursing students did their clinicals at Little Company of Mary Hospital in Evergreen Park. After raising 12 children she embarked on a successful professional career.
Mom and Dad toured the world after they retired. They went to Poland, Russia, England, Italy, Israel, Australia, Antarctica and other places. I went to China with them in 1988. We gathered for family reunions, weddings, anniversaries and other special events.
Many families take moments of togetherness for granted. Because the oldest siblings had moved out of the house by the time I was born, there were very few moments when our parents were together with all 12 of their children in one place at the same time.
As a young working adult, I rarely paused to appreciate how lucky I was to be part of such a wonderful family. But I recall a moment as a kid when I felt the weight of time passing.
A nun taught piano to all 12 Slowik children. Mom would haul each of us to lessons at the Sisters of St. Joseph facility next to Nazareth Academy in La Grange Park. I remember the day of my last lesson, staring out a window with my back to them as Mom thanked the nun and said goodbye. I didn’t want them to see me crying.
I suspect each sibling would say the same thing, but I always felt individually loved by both parents. I never sensed favoritism or jealousy beyond a few fleeting moments that are inevitable during anyone’s childhood and adolescence.
After I finished eighth grade, I went to Colorado to spend the whole summer with our oldest brother. It was my first time away from home for an extended period. I had a great time at first, making friends and enjoying the mountains and forests.
After a couple weeks, a letter arrived from Mom. She wrote how she had seen a blond haired boy who looked like me walking past the house. It made her realize she missed me, she wrote. I immediately became homesick and miserable.
My mother, Clare Slowik, said she loved me. I checked it out, and it was true.
Ted Slowik is a columnist for the Daily Southtown.