By Jay Kerner

Having this space every other Thursday is a little bit daunting, because I constantly have to choose how to use it. How much smart-ass humor is too much? Can I offset it with a little do-gooder stuff? It’s an ongoing struggle.

For this issue I decided to put that aside and indulge myself. (I know, some say that’s all I do!)

Anyway, last week was my mother’s 70^th birthday. She’s to the point now where she asks us not to buy her anything. She’s started weeding out her lifetime accumulation of crap and doesn’t want any more. Now instead, she wants us to write her a poem. Please! Can’t she just accept the damn basket of gift soaps and be happy? Unfortunately one of my sisters set the bar so high in the poetry department that nothing I do could measure up. At 7 or 8 she wrote these immortal lines in a home made card: I love you Mom, I think you’re grand, even if you won’t take us to

I know I couldn’t top that, so I won’t even try. But still, I’ve got space to fill, and even though it won’t rhyme, let me tell you about my mom.

Everybody has a mother. Biology says so. At least until that cloning thing develops, every high ranking world leader, and every drooling idiot on the street arrived on the scene essentially the same way. It’s what happens next that makes the difference.

Beverly Jean Hamilton Kerner Burton Martinmaas was born 70 years ago right here in

Young Bev was pretty, smart and artistic. She had what most would call an idyllic childhood in the Northside, walking a few blocks to

For all she had going for her, there was a problem that would haunt her for the next 40 years or so. My future Mom was unlucky at love.

She started dating my Dad while she was a sophomore and they got married right after graduation. I was born a year and a half later. She had converted to Catholicism to please his family, and thanks to the Rhythm Method, I was joined by two sisters and a brother who showed up every other year or so.

Unfortunately, while Mom was changing diapers, Dear old Dad, never caught on that after you get married, you are supposed to stop dating. They went through several years of trial separations and reconciliations before finally giving up the ghost and divorcing when I was eight.

So here was my Mom, 28, with four kids and no job training. Daddy Dear quit making the house payments, and when they turned off the lights we temporarily headed for her parents apartment. She rolled up her sleeves and got busy. She talked her way into a job as a dental assistant, cramming over textbooks every night. Before long we were able to move to a tiny rental house up the street. Her parents were still helping with childcare but she was fiercely independent and determined to raise us herself.

When I was 12 she remarried. This guy was no prize either, but at least he came home at night. I never saw any real affection between them or us kids for that matter, but the fruit of that union, was a wonderful half sister. (The half is for your clarification; it doesn’t exist in my mind.)

Steady and dependable seemed like pretty good characteristics when she married him, but it came with an overbearing controlling personality that kept her down for the 20 years of that marriage. When she finally was free to live her own life in her 50’s, she blossomed like the beautiful flower she was meant to be.

Always funny and creative, she got to spoil her grandchildren with silly sleepovers, and mountains of homemade craft projects. She bought the first house that was truly her own and turned the little cottage into something from a fairy tale. Flower gardens, bird houses, yard art galore. This phase of her life lasted about 10 years. She seemed really happy to all of us but then something happened. She met a man on the internet. He was a recent widower with several grown children. We were deeply concerned. With her history of bad choices with men, we were afraid this was going to screw up her life.

Boy, were we wrong. Daddy Bob turned out to be a great guy. He loves my mom for the wacky nut job she is. He is pretty conservative, and I think he appreciates her crazy outgoing personality. Whatever it is, it’s working. Mom is retired now, and they split their time between their comfortable lake home in

So that’s my mom’s life, summed up in a couple of pages. I’m sure she would have told it differently, and I hope I haven’t revealed so much dirty laundry that she would be embarrassed.

My mom is by far the nicest person I have ever met. She tries to see the best in everyone, and always gives you the benefit of the doubt. I believe the best legacy you can leave the world is the children you raise. Myself excluded, all of her children are genuinely nice people. The ones with children are themselves raising nice people. That came from my mom. Despite her three marriages and my dad’s four (so far), all five of us kids are on our originals. That has to say something.

So happy birthday Mom from your firstborn. I love you to pieces and hope the years to come are the best yet.

If you remember my mom and want to drop her an email, you can find her at bevmartinmaas@hotmail.com.