Clyde’s Corner: Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. You are dearly missed!

Clyde’s mom, Delberta “Dell” Whitaker, in her younger days.

Hello again, everyone.

Since Mother’s Day is coming up, I thought I would reminisce about a few special memories that I shared with my mom.  

My mom was a sweetheart, unless you goofed around and heard her exclaim, “Get me a switch.” When this occurred (rarely, lol), I would go out and find the flimsiest branch I could find and hand it to my mom.  

With my mom holding one of my wrists, I proceeded to do the merry-go-round, jumping up and down, (pleading for mercy!) until Mom deemed the right amount of discipline had been doled out. I was a slow learner.

And then there’s this memory that involved my brother, Jerry, and sister, Juanita. One fine summer day, my mom chased us kids out of the house, telling us “Go! Do something.” I walked out to our barn and grabbed a bat and a baseball to hit around.  

At the edge of our property was a large rock that you could play on or sit on. Juanita and Jerry were sitting on the rock when I decided to teach Jerry, who was about 6 at that time, how to hit a baseball. After repeatedly telling Jerry to stay on the large rock, I tossed the ball into the air, took a mighty swing and connected with Jerry’s forehead when he jumped off the rock.

Dell Whitaker stands with Clyde’s brother, Jerry. Dell
is wearing Clyde’s high school varsity jacket.

I immediately scooped him up, with blood running all over his face, and we ran for the front door, screaming for Mom. Likewise, she screamed out when she saw Jerry’s face, quickly using a towel to cover the wound in his forehead. All of us loaded into the car for a wild trip to see Dr. Beckwith in town. After a few stiches and cleanup, Jerry looked good as new.

Later, when I was a teenager, my mom had a small flock of chickens that produced many eggs; they were her babies. At the same time, my dad had a large garden that he maintained, and he was very proud of the fact that you could never find a weed in it; he was always out there.

Coming home one day with my friend John Stanfield, I pulled into our driveway, and I saw a chicken in the garden! I quickly jumped out of the car and picked up a fairly large stone to throw near the chicken to scare it out of the garden, yelling at it to no avail.

Since I was a pitcher in baseball, and at a distance of about 100 feet, my throw was a little too accurate, and I hit the chicken in the neck! I exclaimed “oh, no” when the chicken dropped over, then I heard my mom yelling from the bathroom window, “You killed my chicken.”

Mom ran out of the house and picked up the limp chicken, talking to her and rubbing her neck. Thankfully, the chicken survived (and me as well) to live a long life, even with a crooked neck…!

And on that note—Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there. I hope it’s fantastic!

Photos provided by Clyde Whitaker

Clyde Whitaker is a 1973 Stockbridge graduate. He and his wife, Mary, raised four children in Stockbridge, and they still reside in the Stockbridge area.