IN PRAISE OF MOM AND DAD
by Theresa Catharina de Góes Campos
My father was a Military Pilot in the Brazilian
Air Force.
I have a very treasured memory of my early
childhood when he flew me back home, after I had
spent two months with my grandmother. I was
three years old and he sat me on his lap, in the
cockpit and gave me his lunch and cookies. I
rewarded him with a big mess of crumbs on the
towel he set around my neck as a bib. That
didn't bother him; he just went about putting
the long towel to use, patiently cleaning my
face.
I started writing when I was eight years old,
responding to inner demands, since there was
never any family suggestion, influence or
coaching, prior to my own impulse to share my
thoughts with others. As soon as I understood
what it meant to choose a career, without
hesitation I decided for journalism. I also
realized the earlier you begin, the better. Soon,
our household got its own handwritten
one-copy-only periodical, with one girl
occupying all the positions and performing all
the functions, from editing to reporting and
publishing. Issued twice a month, it offered a
variety of information, jokes and private
revelations; color pictures, cut out from old,
discarded magazines, were glued to the paper,
instead of photos or drawings, a solution I
found to overcome my total lack of artistic
talent for illustrations. At the same age, I
began writing poetry, followed by political,
idealistic articles; religious themes
constituted a frequent subject too.
At seven, I loved to read aloud to my parents
from the children's magazines an old aunt
usually sent from Rio de Janeiro, in the best
way I could: I would skip the difficult words; I
did the same with a series of books entitled "Treasury
of Youth." My brother, one year younger, and my
sister, three years junior to me, had both
different inclinations and couldn't care less
about my professional initiation; Dad had a well
disguised pride, an attitude of "wait and see,"
while Mother was enthusiastic and most
encouraging since the very beginning. Father
being a military man, postings and moving were
part of our life routine. He would be the one in
charge of packing everything. My luggage
included many books, a fact that always provoked
some complaints from Dad though I am still not
sure whether they were to be taken seriously,
because he likes so much to tease people, at the
same time being himself not an easy person for
anyone to assess his real feelings about a few
intimate subjects. The boxes crowding the rooms,
the family kept busy making sure nothing was
forgotten, while I would be walking around and
over the packages and suitcases, reading my
short stories and poems aloud. Dad would grin,
saying: "There she is again in another world…”
Mom would convey, in a very pleasant way, how
much she “and the others" were enjoying my
writings, offering the opinion that I was
providing the necessary entertainment to help
endure the boring task.
Recently, my parents celebrated their 35th
wedding anniversary; their success is an
accomplishment of love by two different
personalities living by the same principles and
objectives. They met each other for the first
time at a Sunday Mass. Mother was there alone,
despite a late arrival from a party. Her mother
had suggested many times before that she should
not go to such an early Mass, adding as a
chuckle: "You won't find a husband there…"
Father, escorting his sisters, admired that girl
who didn't notice him, so absorbed she was,
following (this was the term, before the Vatican
Council II…) the service in her prayer book. One
day, the young man followed her, the girl in his
mind and heart, after the Sunday Mass, to see
where she lived and to introduce himself. At the
time he was a student at the Air Force Academy.
Their courtship presented some odd problems, due
to the fact Dad didn't have more than one suit;
when it needed to be left at the dry-cleaner,
Mom would have no date. He also could not afford
the tickets for the Municipal Theater, where
Mother and her parents would go often, nor to
buy the membership of their VIP club. Father
would escort them up to the entrance of both
places and he would be there again, waiting
outside for their return. After the engagement,
he was determined to get the President of Brazil
to issue a special authorization for him to
marry without having to wait the six months
period preceding the promotion to Lieutenant, in
accordance with the law at the time. This
required a presentation to the Minister, a
petition, persuasive talks, etc. His military
course just finished, all holidays suspended
because of the Second World War, Father had this
plan of getting married while on a courier route,
stopping over just to allow enough time to get a
wedding ceremony performed. All the other dates
they had reserved before went by with no
authorization being issued. At last, almost
immediately after the document was signed, with
only a few relatives called in a hurry, the
marriage took place. There was no reception, no
fancy honeymoon either. Bride and groom rushed
to the airport, boarding the military plane to a
small city on the coast, where Dad was to be
stationed at the Air Base.
I was born one year later, a very fortunate girl
because Roman Catholic faith is a 24-hour way of
life, in my middle-class family, not a
Sunday-only affair. I also had the blessing of a
mother who stayed home, happy to be a full-time
housewife. The least I will say about my parents
is that they were responsible, supporting,
loving couple who set a daily living example of
Christianity. Parents who believed religious
education is the best preparation for future
hardships; conscientious, encouraging parents,
always welcoming opportunities to help the
Priests, our Parish, religious publications and
movements. Parents who were determined followers
of the Church teachings. We, their three
children, were enrolled in private RC schools,
while Father also took the responsibility for
helping to financially support the education of
eight other children, from Daddy's eldest sister.
Mother and Dad believe in discipline. Until we
were teenagers, we were expected to have a nap
lying in bed after lunch every day, whether we
felt like a nap or not; at meal time, our food
was put all in a big serving tray - if one of us
would be too picky or slow, there would be
nothing left for him/her, in a matter of
minutes. Mom organized the menus, according to
good nutrition guidelines. Asking for a
different dish than the ones being served at a
particular meal was ruled out. Not coerced to
eat if we didn't want to, we knew there would be
no other food, no snacks allowed before dinner
time. The amazing thing is that none of us ever
felt any revolt or bitterness against our
parents. We felt secure, loved - we understood
deep down they wanted the best for us. Though
Dad had a policy of "no explanation needed," Mom
would take the extra time to talk, conveying the
aims and benefits of the house rules. I can
still hear advices such as “lettuce is good for
your eyes."
"When you eat all kinds of food, you'll always
have a good time when you dine out. Your host
will be delighted. Your body needs variety, to
develop as it should. “
What pleased me most was the information on
being invited back, "because you are not a
difficult person to feed."
Decades before scientists appealed to the crowds
to conserve energy, my parents had already
declared a war to wastage, labelled as a
non-excusable sin. Whenever a plate or cup would
hold proof of an eye bigger than the stomach,
they reminded us of the millions of people
starving at that very moment. Mistakes,
accidents were dealt with fairness, while
vandalism was punished without delay. When we
acted carelessly and disobediently,
intentionally breaking a great number of
dinnerware pieces, Father announced right away
we were to eat and drink from empty cans for one
week. Not a teenager yet, I had enough
understanding to realize Dad meant to bring out
the best in us… or he would not be sitting out
in the garden, struggling for almost one hour
with a hammer, preparing the edges of cans,
bending and softening the rims so we didn't get
hurt when using them. lf he didn't care, why
bother to put in so much time and effort? It
would be so easy and convenient to go downtown
and buy some extra plates and mugs ! Mother said
they were counting on our self-esteem, since
they expected we would react in a positive way.
When exposed to visitors and guests, while
eating from empty cans, to the horror of many…
we would vow silently to ourselves never more to
go on a breaking rampage. To provide the best
for the family was Dad and Mom's main goal, but
this certainly didn't include spoiling. They
were happy to pay for music and language private
lessons, nevertheless, when I was 12 years old
and wanted to own an expensive 21-book literary
encyclopedia, both approved the idea, that's all.
I had to get a few pupils to give private
accordion lessons myself to afford the literary
encyclopedia monthly payments.
The concern for their children's safety was
expressed by a balanced, common sense attitude
and by providing not only full time supervision,
as well as space and facilities for playing at
home. The whole idea consisted in offering a
pleasant, inviting atmosphere, so to attract our
friends to our house, where the elders would not
be far away, technique they used all through our
adolescence, dating, engagement times. Again, we
can sincerely remark there was no other place we
would rather be. Mother is a first class
hostess. Her refinement involves all details for
an occasion, including the preparation of
delicious food, setting of the table, serving
schedule, decoration, entertainment program. All
this plus the warmth and kindness put into
weIcoming every guest in a special way. Father
was the one who paid the bills. No, I am joking.
This was what he said sometimes, though it is
not true. His integrity and reliability, his
genuine sense of humor, combined with a great
respect for other people's feelings, were one
basic reason for the success of those social
events. The worst part was Mom not being ready
until the last minute. Dad and I would often
have to be at the door, to greet the guests. She
was always counting on them being late. In fact,
she would even refer to an unwritten rule that
you don't come on time, to avoid giving the
impression you were too anxious for the party.
She never failed to remind Father about the
right time to start dressing… and then, he would
be ready in minutes. At this point, Mother was
urged to leave the kitchen or dining room. We
would lose our temper over the matter, not her.
ln the end, everything turned out just wonderful.
We had maids who had been taught by Mom to
perform their tasks properly. She as always busy
doing things for us. We considered a treat when
she would go to the kitchen to cook one special
dish. Dad never failed to declare Mother knew
how to prepare a variety of recipes better than
anyone else. We all held the same opinion. Our
experience was that regardless of how many tasty
dishes were offered in the buffet, the bowls and
serving trays with food Mother had cooked
personally would be refilled several times… and
you can bet anything there would be no left
overs for the following day. The outcome was the
same, even when it became a habit to serve Mom's
specialties in the biggest bowls. lf you didn't
run to them, you would be out of luck.
Mother remained unconvinced of the joys of being
on time. She would reply "Life is not a clock."
Accordingly, Mom was not well informed about the
correct time of the day. She used to forget to
wind her wrist-watch or the alarm clock would be
running late, or she would even be unaware of
their whereabouts. Taking into consideration the
known fact that Latin American people are not
examples of punctuality, Mother's favorite
excuse was "nobody is ever on time in this
country."
This was her line of reasoning once more, when I
got truly exasperated before one of my trips,
organized by the local students´ association.
She insisted on driving me to the rail station.
And you guessed right: Mom got late in leaving
home. She tried to calm me down with the words
“No need to worry, Theresa. Have you ever heard
of a train in Brazil arriving on time?" I would
not dispute that, but I was still worried, just
in case. It so happened, for the surprise of
more than thirty youngsters and their relatives
that the train came and departed on schedule,
leaving behind a delegation to follow much later
by a rented bus. Unfortunately, the incident did
not constitute a turning point experience for
Mother. She insisted it was silly for the steam
train engineer not to wait at the station for so
many passengers. And how could we be so mean to
ever get mad at Mom?
Her love and care surrounded us daily in such an
active way ! Only after we exchanged "good night"
she would leave our side. In the evenings, she
would go with Dad to the movies or for a doctor
or dentist appointment. Mother was never idle. I
remember her diligently sewing, with a school
book opened in front of her, reading aloud to
us, helping for hours with our homework. With a
smile that was always on her lips, she displayed
a permanent good mood, rushing to aid at any
sign someone who was in need. Her devotion to
Father enhanced his life and career in a way
only her could have done. She didn't nag,
whatever the circumstances. She was quick to
adapt to the many postings, eager to see the
positive side of every circumstance, the
advantages of any kind of situation. Nothing
disturbed Mom - isn't this marvelous?! Dad would
come back from work and would call her from the
main door. In minutes, he would point out many
things to be corrected, though he meant to be
highly efficient and safety-minded! As a pilot,
his superiors and colleagues considered this
safety-minded attitude as one of his greatest
qualities. Mother was never late to excuse
Father's impertinence: "Let's not forget that in
his profession, a small mistake may cause a
tragic loss of lives.”
Sometimes Dad was the pilot for the bi-weekly
supply courier to the beautiful island of
Fernando de Noronha, a military base in the
Atlantic Ocean. The residents waited anxiously
for the big cargo plane, since it constituted
the only link with the continent, their mailing,
food and medical services. The welcoming
reception at the airport was known as
overwhelming, joyful and very friendly, attended
by many people. I once heard Father saying their
appreciation made the day, something the crew
really enjoyed after the many hours of tension
while flying for such a long time above the
ocean, without seeing any piece of land for a
period that seemed terrifying endless.
The courier flight included two return trips in
the same day. The Army Commander had invited us
to visit the island, suggesting we should take
the first flight and do a bit of sightseeing,
while Dad would be going back and forth. We
confirmed the date and at 2:30 in the morning (or
should I emphasize - 2:30 at dawn?), cargo and
passengers were all aboard. Some even planned to
get back to the sleep they had cut short,
despite the inconvenience that the plane had no
proper seats. A primitive sitting arrangement,
provided by ropes at each side of the plane
interior, had people lined up against the
metallic wall, one by one, leaving mostly the
space in the center for maximum cargo capacity.
Ready for the departure, a member of the crew
went personally to each passenger, telling all
to hang on to the ropes tied to the ceiling.
Then, Father came out of the cockpit and
announced we had to disembark, because he got
suspicious maybe a chemical container was
leaking. Considering the danger, the crew would
have to check carefully whether there was indeed
a problem of that nature. People didn't hide
their aggravation, so annoyed they were. After
we left the plane, we heard the co-pilot
commenting that nobody else had smelled anything
at all. One Warrant Officer remarked that the
usual safety precautions had been taken in
loading the cargo. He also couldn't remember any
other occasion where a similar problem had been
recorded. We ended up waiting for a long time
because a leaking container was indeed found at
the bottom of a pile of big wooden boxes,
forcing a last minute cleaning of the floor and
a few more safety checks.
When we got to Fernando de Noronha Island,
military vehicles rushed to the site in order to
get their gas tanks filled up. We drove to the
Commander's house to enjoy a luncheon which was
waiting for the fresh vegetables the plane had
just brought to the island. During the meal, the
circumstances that delayed the trip were a
conversation topic.
"When the others said they didn't smell anything
strange… I got a 99 percent feeling that I was
wrong, but still, I had to make my decision
strictly based on safety, not on convenience or
my personal embarrassment," Father told us,
before leaving for the second flight of the day.
Theresa Catharina de Góes Campos
Ottawa - Ontario, Canada (1980)
From: Elizabeth Barros
Date: 2015-07-25
Tia, obrigada por me enviar este texto em
inglês, muito bem escrito pela senhora, no ano
de 1980, sobre o vovô e a vovó e sobre a nossa
família. Estou lendo com calma, apreciando bem,
sem dificuldade para entender.
Elizabeth.
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