Her name is Perl, spelled P. E. R. L., short for Perleatha; but just because there isn’t an “A” in her name, doesn’t make my mother any less of a precious jewel. People like her are rare - and when a name alone elicits respect, reverence, and at times a bit of awe and wonder, it’s an honor just to be called her son.
Her Name is Perl - But I Call Mom!
Like many moms of the 80’s, Perl was a working mom. Despite a demanding career in the travel industry, she never seemed to miss being “mom” to my older sister Tiffany and me, and never missed out on being “wife” to my dad. I once overheard her tell someone, “It’s not really hard - just time consuming - but I’m consumed by my purpose as both a wife and mother… knowing who you are and whose you are helps dictate that purpose…” It wasn’t until I grew up that I understood what she meant - and I’m still learning just how loaded that statement is and was.
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