1.0The News Journalhttps://qa.thenewsjournal.netrich600338<blockquote class="wp-embedded-content" data-secret="IxwHLs3P3e"><a href="https://qa.thenewsjournal.net/mothers-day-will-never-forget/">A Mother’s Day I Will Never Forget</a></blockquote><iframe sandbox="allow-scripts" security="restricted" src="https://qa.thenewsjournal.net/mothers-day-will-never-forget/embed/#?secret=IxwHLs3P3e" width="600" height="338" title="“A Mother’s Day I Will Never Forget” — The News Journal" data-secret="IxwHLs3P3e" frameborder="0" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" class="wp-embedded-content"></iframe><script type="text/javascript"> /* <![CDATA[ */ /*! This file is auto-generated */ !function(d,l){"use strict";l.querySelector&&d.addEventListener&&"undefined"!=typeof URL&&(d.wp=d.wp||{},d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage||(d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage=function(e){var t=e.data;if((t||t.secret||t.message||t.value)&&!/[^a-zA-Z0-9]/.test(t.secret)){for(var s,r,n,a=l.querySelectorAll('iframe[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),o=l.querySelectorAll('blockquote[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),c=new RegExp("^https?:$","i"),i=0;i<o.length;i++)o[i].style.display="none";for(i=0;i<a.length;i++)s=a[i],e.source===s.contentWindow&&(s.removeAttribute("style"),"height"===t.message?(1e3<(r=parseInt(t.value,10))?r=1e3:~~r<200&&(r=200),s.height=r):"link"===t.message&&(r=new URL(s.getAttribute("src")),n=new URL(t.value),c.test(n.protocol))&&n.host===r.host&&l.activeElement===s&&(d.top.location.href=t.value))}},d.addEventListener("message",d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage,!1),l.addEventListener("DOMContentLoaded",function(){for(var e,t,s=l.querySelectorAll("iframe.wp-embedded-content"),r=0;r<s.length;r++)(t=(e=s[r]).getAttribute("data-secret"))||(t=Math.random().toString(36).substring(2,12),e.src+="#?secret="+t,e.setAttribute("data-secret",t)),e.contentWindow.postMessage({message:"ready",secret:t},"*")},!1)))}(window,document); /* ]]> */ </script> https://qa.thenewsjournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Bena-Mae-mug137.jpg200228A Mother’s Day I Will Never Forget It must have been in 1946 or 47 when I  was a budding teenager, that my brother, Don, who was just a little tyke, brought shame to our family and caused his female siblings to close the curtains and withdraw from society for a spell. It happened on a Mother’s Day. As we did every Sunday, the Estep clan had filed into church that morning. Like always, Daddy took his place in the choir where he could keep an eye on his flock while the rest of us sought a secluded corner where he couldn’t see us. We knew if he saw us whisper or fidget during the service, we would get two sermons that day… one from the preacher and another one from him when we got home. “Thou shalt not misbehave in church” was the eleventh commandment and we knew to obey it. And, as always on Mother’s Day, it was the church’s custom to give special recognition to the family with the most children present. In the past, our family had won this distinction, hands down. But the plot begins to thicken right about here because on this day, it was not to be. After the congregation sang several hymns and the offering plates had been passed, the preacher stepped to the dais and asked the children of each family to stand. Obediently we stood and waited to be recognized. After several families had been counted, it came our tum. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 the preacher counted and then stopped. Something was wrong. He knew and we knew there should be eight of us. So he counted again. And again he only came up with seven. One of us was missing! Which one? By this time, Daddy decided to get in on the act. He arose from the choir and came down and stood by the preacher. Now if you will remember, when you were a teenager, you didn’t want your peers to know you even had parents, let alone parents who made public spectacles of themselves. But that didn’t matter to Daddy. He had a child missing and he was going to find out which one. In my mind he looked as angry as Moses when he broke the sacred tablets while the children of Israel cowered in fear. At that moment, I knew how the children of Israel felt. Not knowing what else to do, I stared down at my feet and prayed the floor would swallow me up. In the meantime, Daddy and the preacher and the entire congregation of Central Baptist Church were counting Estep children. I was totally mortified, I felt like every eye in the church was on me, my social standing, phht! I knew my sisters were feeling the same way. After what seemed like an eternity of counting and recounting, it was discovered that the one missing was little brother, Don. When that fact was made clear, his seven sisters were seen muttering to themselves, “ I will kill him when we get home!” I think the preacher’s words that day were, “Somebody had better go home with Brother Estep to protect that boy when he gets there.” (In case you’re thinking Don might have been abducted or had met with foul play, those things didn’t happen in the little town of Corbin when we were growing up. Therefore, such a possibility never entered our minds.) Needless to say, we didn’t hear a word of the preacher’s sermon. All we could think of was getting home and settling our score with Don. When we did get home and changed out of our Sunday clothes, the truth came out. Don confessed that during the hymn singing, he and a little friend had taken their offering (a whole nickel) and gone to the Creamery where they bought an ice cream cone. When Daddy heard that, he didn’t waste any time preaching Don the sermon he had missed. The fried chicken dinner Mama had sitting on the table didn’t sit too well on his stomach that day, once Daddy got through with him. But if he thought Daddy’s wrath was bad, it was nothing compared to the wrath of the sisters who had suffered public humiliation because of him. We dared him to get within throwing distance of us for days to come. He learned the hard way that you don’t incur the anger of seven females at one time. He didn’t skip church anymore, either. Broccoli Casserole Ingredients 2 Pkgs. frozen broccoli 1/2 lb. processed cheese 1 stick butter 1/4 lb. Ritz crackers Directions Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cook broccoli according to directions on box, drain. Place in casserole dish. Add 1/2 stick melted butter to broccoli. Add cheese. Melt remaining stick of butter and mix with crumbled Ritz crackers. Put on top of broccoli. Bake for 30 minutes at 350 degrees. Enjoy!