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My mother only had one child – me. Her holding a doll as a child herself is a sentimental tug on my heart strings. My mother was a thoughtful person and always did her fair share of whatever work there was that needed doing and more. She was surprisingly intelligent but more of a social person than an intellectual. I am told she skipped two grades ahead before she graduated from high school, and in part that is why I was sent to school early, before I was technically old enough to go.

I have trouble remembering my mother clearly; she was always there doing what needed doing and never complaining about anything. I can remember her asking me not to bounce a baseball against a glass window on our house, because she was afraid it would get broken. She asked me again a few minutes later when I was still doing it, but not in an angry way. That’s about the only discipline or scolding I can remember. That never seemed strange to me until right now as I write this blog post, but it is amazing.

Mary Estella (Eidemiller) Scamahorn/Johnson

My mother Mary Estella (Eidemiller) Scamahorn/Johnson as a child holding a doll, 1915.

With such a wonderful mother, I don’t know why I am not a better person than I am.

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