My mother is cool. She is so cool that she uses the word cool in conversation. On Aug. 8, my mother, Pat Hutchinson, will turn 90. That means I have known her for one month shy of 70 years. Mom won’t like this column because she hates being the centre of attention. I apologize but some things need to be said. Mom looks great which seems like an ageist thing to say. In this case, it is both true and a leadin to a story. I haven’t shared it with many people; I am counting on you to laugh with me.

Mom and I were out together one day and found ourselves in a situation where the server or cashier or somebody else, thought Mom and I were husband and wife. My mother took great delight in this. I saw the humour in it, but didn’t laugh. At most, I faked a smile. Mom had a scare a couple of years ago when she was feeling a pain and went to a Saskatoon hospital to have it checked. Just before she was released, a doctor patted her on the shoulder and said, “Well, you are getting up there.” He was lucky she didn’t get out of bed and give him the business. My mother comes from humble beginnings, like so many born in the 1930s. It defines who she is today.

She spent her formative years on a small farm near Watrous. She is the oldest of four children who were raised by a single mother. My grandmother had cows and chickens and a huge garden. She had a horse which pulled her children to school. Walking wasn’t an option, even though the school was downhill both ways. My brother, Dean, and I teased Mom about having a horse named Fluff. I don’t know why, but we did. (We tease Mom incessantly because it is done in love. She has become as much a friend and confidante as a mother.) Their farm house was like one of those you see when driving in rural areas. You know, the unpainted ones that are about to topple over. Theirs was standing straight in the 1940s. What they had at Christmas came from the Salvation Army, Mom’s charity of choice now. The point of this is to say Mom got her work ethic and appreciation for what she has honestly. Her unconditional love comes from within. Nothing goes to waste at her home. If you open my mother’s fridge, you might see half an apple wrapped in cellophane. There might be half a banana sitting on the counter. There are exceptions. In the fridge are mini-Kit Kat and Aero chocolate bars. Below them are lines of Diet Pepsi and Coke.

In recent times, Mom has taken most of her chocolate intake out of her diet, but still keeps the fridge stocked for me. How she resists the temptation to dive in, I don’t know. She does cheat on Sundays, when we have brownies. Dean and I are so lucky to have Mom as a mom. You can line up all the moms in the world and none would be ahead of her. If Mother Teresa had been a mom instead of a Mother, she would have been tied with mine at best.

 I can’t remember seeing my mother angry. She faked anger when my brother and I acted up — when we were little boys, I should add. She would chase us sometimes, but never really wanted to catch us. We knew she could; Mom competed in the provincial track and field championships as a sprinter a few years before I was born. She would say, “If you don’t behave, I will tell your father.” Not once did she tell him. She didn’t tell my father when she lent me $400 to buy my first car. Had he asked where I got the money, she would have fessed up. He didn’t ask. (Note: I haven’t paid her back.) When I played baseball and hockey as a kid, Mom was always there. In the winter, that meant standing in snow banks around the rink. She seldom missed a curling game. She would sit slightly off to the side. When we made eye contact, she would wink. Mom knows more about sports than most. We watch Blue Jays games together and she is one step ahead of manager John Schneider, and two ahead of commentator Buck Martinez. She is better at calling plays than many Roughrider coaches. For example, when the Riders were stuffed on the goal line in a recent game against B.C., Mom said, “Why don’t they go off tackle or around the end?” Why don’t they? Mom has had two holes-in-one. It isn’t quite a fair comparison, but superstar Nelly Korda has had just one in an LPGA event.

My three sons cherish their grandmother. She taught them how to golf, one to ride a two-wheeler and was the go-to caregiver when Sandy and I were out. That love is now extended to Mom’s four great grandchildren. A fifth will arrive in August. Seeing one great granddaughter extend her hand to hold Mom’s while recently walking outside the Berry Barn was a beautiful moment. Small things really do matter. Wednesdays used to be extra special for my sons. They would come home from elementary school for lunch, and there would be a stack of pancakes waiting; she made them from scratch. The lunch was so popular that friends of the boys’ would come too. Pancake Grandma, they called her. Like I said, my mom is cool.

I love you, Mom, and Happy Birthday.

– Cam Hutchinson