It's been so long since I last saw Frankie. I was in my young teens when my mother would take me from Boerne down to Frankie's house when they lived in San Antonio, and I visited her house quite often. Being a year younger, I was always looking up to Frankie. I wanted to be like her and dress like her because she was so cute, and she was "popular with the boys." What a darling she was. I wish I had been closer to her over the years. Distance of miles seemed to prevent that. I certainly have great memories of "back when."

Mom was a woman with a heart so big, that she never let anything stand in the way of providing love and encouragement, regardless of her own circumstances. For a socially backward boy, she was always patient, kind, and understanding. She saw qualities in me as a kid, that I have only recently come to appreciate. It was always a thorn in her side, when she would give me praise, and I would say something like, "Oh yea, but your my Mom, you're supposed to think, that I'm wonderful." Well I'm a better man and father, because of the example that she set for me day in and day out. I love you Mom, and I can hardly wait to join you in paradise to run, and soar together under a bright warm sun, and to while away the hours in conversation. Joe

A Mother A few months ago, when I was picking up the children at school, 
Another mother I knew well rushed up to me. Emily was fuming with 
indignation. "Do you know what you and I are?" she demanded. Before I could answer, and I didn't really have one handy, she blurted out the reason for her question. It seemed she had just returned from renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office. Asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation, Emily had hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. What I mean is," explained the recorder, "Do you have a job, or are you just a .....?" "Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother." "We don't list 'mother' as an occupation... 'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically. 
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same 
situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a 
career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high-sounding title 
like Official Interrogator or Town Registrar. "And what is your occupation?" she probed. What made me say it, I do not know. The words simply popped out. "I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations." The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pompous pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire. "Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?" Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research what mother doesn't in the laboratory and in the field normally I would have said indoors and out. I'm 
working for my Masters the whole darned family and already have four 
credits all daughters." "Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities any mother care to disagree? and I often work 14 hours a day 24 is more like it. But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are in satisfaction rather than just money." There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door. As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants - ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model 6 months in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt triumphant! I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another mother." 
Motherhood! What a glorious career. Especially when there's a title 
on the door. The Images of Mother: 
4 YEARS OF AGE ~ My Mommy can do anything! 
8 YEARS OF AGE ~ My Mom knows a lot! A whole lot! 
12 YEARS OF AGE ~ My Mother doesn't really know quite everything. 
14 YEARS OF AGE ~ Naturally, Mother doesn't know that, either 
16 YEARS OF AGE ~ Mother! She's hopelessly old-fashioned. 
18 YEARS OF AGE ~ That old woman? She's way out of date! 
25 YEARS OF AGE ~ Well, she might know a little bit about it 
35 YEARS OF AGE ~ Before we decide, let's get Mom's opinion. 
45 YEARS OF AGE ~ Wonder what Mom would have thought about it? 
65 YEARS OF AGE ~ Wish I could talk it over with Mom. ======================================== 
My Friend - 
My Confidant - 
My Ego Booster - 
My Cheerleader - 
My MOTHER 
I love you Mom - Rest in Peace.

OBITUARY

Margaret Frances Cartwright Traylor

June 24, 1935 – April 5, 2003

Porter Loring Mortuary - McCullough

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