Was she born with hands on hips,

this string bean with the pouty lips?

Or is this just a short preview

of how she’ll be when life is through

shaping her into the one

who never quite became a nun?

 

Five brothers and a loony dad;

the noise there could get pretty bad.

On Bow Street if you didn’t speak

you’d be forgotten for a week.

Despite her mother’s gentle way,

Mary would become one day

the girl who always had her say.

 

A young whiz at math and Latin,

eyes like sky and skin like satin.

Left the noisy farm to find

a zoo of quite another kind.

 

Keeping house and making babies,

getting pets their shots for rabies.

Working for the Air Force, too:

the smartest of their mapping crew.

And all the while a fashion queen,

hot pants like you’ve never seen.

The mystery of the neighborhood

was how could Mary look this good

when all she got for spending money

was $50 weekly from her honey.

 

Ask the kids, they’ll tell of days

spent in organized forays

to Filene’s Basement, to do battle,

lining up like herds of cattle,

Waiting for the opening bell,

God help the poor lost child who fell.

Salespeople all paid homage to

General Mary and her crew.

 

Perhaps life’s challenges reveal

the reason for her will of steel.

Unwelcome growth inside her head,

Short stay in a hospital bed.

And then she’s back, as good as new,

this time with the spunk of two.

 

And now she really hits her stride

with “carpe diem” as her guide

(and little Rodney at her side).

She knocks ‘em dead in real estate,

earns as much as her dear mate,

and still looks like she’s twenty-eight.

 

Her social skills are unsurpassed,

her social network is now vast.

Her kids have reached the age of reason,

time to check out snowbird season.

 

Perhaps these “grown up” kids are why

she sometimes makes you want to sigh.

So quiet in their childhood days,

they now act out in countless ways.

Wanderers and reprobates,

God knows who they’ll bring for dates.

 

Like all things, this too does pass

(though they’re all still full of sass).

They settle down (some more, some less),

far fewer errors to confess.

 

Just as golden years arrive,

Along comes grandchild number five.

Then a sixth and seventh, too.

What’s a busy girl to do?

 

So just what shaped the one we see?

Environment?

Heredity?

 

What rendered her that special mix

of angel and of 666?

Of well-intentioned matriarch

whose bite was no match for her bark?

Of sweet and generous group mascot

who’d cut you dead without a thought?

 

In the end, what does it matter

whence came our loving, cute Mad Hatter?

Because when all is said and done,

she’s ours, and she’s the only one.

Because that’s all we really know:

She’s Mary, and we love her so.

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