I have always felt comfortable around strong women. That is in large part due to the influence of my mother.

Mom was the product of a sharecropper father and mother, with no sisters and three brothers.

Somehow my mother got out of her economically poor upbringing, relocated to New York City as a young woman and worked herself through college earning a four-year degree from Fordham University. This was uncommon in her generation.

She married my father; a printer by trade. As a new bride she inherited her two teenage brothers to raise. To her and my dad’s credit, they did a fine job and both brothers graduated from high school. I was born later in 1939 with younger sisters Linda (1942) and Lois (1946) completing our family quintet.

Mom was a deeply religious woman but also retained the humor and bluntness of her upbringing. I never knew when the “sharecropper” would emerge from mom.

One time when I was about 12, I was at mom’s side after church service as she visited with some of her church lady friends. One of her buddies asked if I was hard to cook for. Mom glanced at me and said, “If I put dog poop between two slices of bread he would eat it.” Thanks Mom!

Mom decided one day I was too proud of my athletic ability. Again, I was 11 or 12ish. She took me out in front of our house, pointed to a tree about 60 yards away and said, “OK hotshot, let’s race to the tree.” Mom was well into her 30s. We raced and she darn near beat me.

When I was about that same age she offered me some marriage wisdom. Mom told me to never have twin or separate beds, it wears out the carpet. Not from the hop, skip and jump over but the dragging your ass back, she added.

My senior year of high school one of the educators gave me advice. He suggested I go to work in a mill or join the service because I wasn’t smart enough for college. I told mom what he said and she said nothing in return. That was in the fall of 1956.

About a decade later this educator ended up in the hospital on my mom’s ward. She later told me he needed shots, so she told him to roll over. She took the needles and dulled the points. As mom gave him the shots she said, “Remember when you told my son Larry Slessler he wasn’t smart enough for college? Well, he graduated from the University of Oregon in four years.” Mom went on to tell me that he quickly apologized for his mistake.

My two son’s saw some of that in their Grandma. She mellowed quite a bit with Nathan and Matthew; in part due to her age and part because she didn’t have to raise them.

I also think that having her youngest brother killed in WWII — the other brother saw WWII service and her only son served in Vietnam — mellowed her. Mom prayed and cried for my safety every day I was “In Country.” She believed her faith brought me home alive.

A tip of the fedora to all you strong women.

Larry Slessler lives in Medford.