Cecil Traylor Wilson



Dear Visitor:

Telling you about my mother has proved to be a lot harder than I thought. Of course, this is just a short sketch of how special she was to me. As an only child, I had the all of her love, attention, and devotion.

She was pretty, not beautiful. She was smart, not brilliant. She loved me, completely, and was constantly teaching me good manners, respect for others, how to think, and how to stop doing things that were harmful or thoughtless to others.

She loved gardenias in a crystal bowl and often entertained her friends from the “Upper Room Bible Class.” She loved pretty clothes. I did not see a whole cake in our kitchen until I was 16—she insisted on giving half of it to neighbors or friends, and I got the privilege of delivering it.

She had friends, but her two sisters were her best and devoted pals. She helped them buy decorations for their homes, pick out clothes and jewelry. She cooked—oh, did she cook. She would cook and then re-cook, and then re-cook something, until it suited her exactly. For example: cornbread. If she ever saw it stick to the bottom of the skillet, “that mess” was in the trash, and she re-created it. I miss it now. It was the same with my homework. She went over it and made me to it exactly right—every time. I am so proud of her tenacity and intelligence.

Winston T. Wilson, Ph.D.



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