Last week I referenced an old letter to the editor calling me a silver spoon elitist. I freely admit my childhood had a luxury many people don’t have; I had Mom. My extensive education in biology teaches me every being of every species has a mother, but few are fortunate enough to have a mom.

In the legislature we hear an endless parade of bills to correct the social ills created by people ignoring ‘mom rules’. It is amazing how well society functions if you “chew with your mouth closed, do your best, clean your room, take nothing that doesn’t belong to you, respect your elders, hold the door for a lady, keep your elbows off the table, never take the last of anything, be the first to say ‘hello’, return things in better condition than you borrowed them, put others first, be the first to swing-off your horse and get the gate (whoops, spilled off into the ‘dad rules’ there), eat your vegetables, and say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’”. It works.

Sadly today, ‘mom rules’ have been replaced with government equivalents. Now the rules read: “Simply by being, and without any effort on your part, you are entitled to food, clothing, transportation, education, healthcare, a clean and healthful environment, housing, feeling good about yourself, a life free of pain, equalization of all results and never being offended.” It is a miserable failure. We’ve become a nation of spoiled pansies.

My mom is tougher than your standard right-off-the-shelf mom. She stands a terrifying five foot two, and earned the secret code name “Fang” between me and my two brothers. (She earned the moniker; it wasn’t gifted.) She is the one who put the fire in my belly. Here is an example: Years back we were in the registered Gelbvieh business and my parents were attending a banquet with other breeders from around Montana. Such dinners can get pompous as strangers introduce themselves and make amazing claims about their wondrous seed stock back home. As the meal was being served, a breeder made the off-hand comment he “kicks all his cows loose into the Missouri Breaks. They calve unassisted and when he rounds them up for branding he usually has a 95 percent calf crop.”

Mom thought about it as she cut her steak, looked him square in the eye and said, “I don’t know you well enough to call you a liar, but I don’t believe what you are telling me.” A long, embarrassing silence descended on the banquet table. That’s my mom.

Recently, Mom’s health has hit a few speed bumps. She rarely picks fights around banquet tables with complete strangers anymore. I guess that might be a plus. I’ll miss her when she is gone but her rules are permanently imbedded in my soul and I have imbedded them in the souls of my children and grandchildren. Thanks Mom; Happy Mothers Day. I do know you well enough to call you a liar, but instead, I believe everything you told me.