A longtime acquaintance passed away this weekend. We shared a connection in that we both cared for our mothers during their final days. He took it a step further with a blog dedicated to them.
So here, allow me to reminisce about our parents. Bob and Cynthia Mog.
Mum (Elsie Cynthia French) was born in Australia, meeting our father (Robert John Mog) – an American serviceman – in I believe 1947. They eloped on New Year’s Day 1948 and three children later moved to Stockton California.
He was a construction stiff – running gigantic shovels and backhoes. Never made it all the way through high school, having to quit early to support his family.
She had a teaching credential in Australia, which she updated when she moved to California…teaching for 36 plus years and getting her masters degree.
An unlikely couple. The oakie Okie and the schoolmarm.
But they were in love. And he was remarkable, despite his many flaws. Self-educated, he could discuss anything and had a love of classical music so strong he taught his girls early on how to dance both the polka and the waltz.
He was an inventor and built home-made go-karts and even a soaring carrier that traveled on string made from an Erection set that could send a can of beer from the kitchen to the living room. All three children benefited from his resourcefulness.
She tempered his sense of adventure with her own love of books and education. When we traveled, we always hit the museums first. When it came time to choose between steak or new clothes and books – we read books. We learned how to properly serve tea to guests (a surprise to many a construction worker who walked in hot and sweaty, to be greeted by two pigtailed girls balancing tea, cream, sugar, cookies and fine china).
We never truly realized how poor we were as youngsters. Construction camps. East Stockton. A tiny house in Lodi. A creaky old house in Groveland. Where ever we lived, we took our sense of self and family…singing together in the car on long trips and somehow holding up against some of the small town minds along the way.
Mum died of lymphoma in 1995. She fought til the end and won the thing that mattered to her most – a regathering of her family. Husband, children, and siblings.
Daddy followed in 2004 – his heart broken, wondering where his lovely bride had gone.
Two worlds came together when they met…resulting in three children. Dale, the youngest and only boy, is gone. Jeanie, the oldest, a flaming redhead and gifted musician, lives in Wyoming. And the middle child, a jack-of-all trades, is still in the old neighborhood entering retirement. The next generation ranges from adults to teens. May their lives be long and remarkable.
Older sister Jeanie has some corrections (of course) to her little sister’s writing.
The misspelling of “Okie” has been fixed.
Here’s the rest:
“…but Daddy was only an honorary Okie for the last few years of his life, lol – - and I’m afraid he would have hated to have the term applied to him. He used it himself in a derogatory way about people he thought were too stupid to breathe.”
“You could say, “never completed ninth grade” which is virtually the truth. He never really got more than a toe into high school. Which makes his achievements all the more remarkable.
According to G’ma French, Daddy and Mum married only 30 days after meeting — she was quite miffed at that American who took off with her daughter, I think.
lol, “once-flaming redhead” might be more accurate.”
Thanks for the corrections.