This week we're talking about mothers, mine, yours, and everyone's.
Love is something that no matter how much you give it away, you can't give it away completely.
It just keeps coming back to you and the more you love, the more love you get.
It's a special Mother's Day edition, saluting the power of love.
I'm Susan Barnett and this is 51% the women's perspective.
My mom's been gone since 2001 and I never suspected that I'd still miss her every day.
It's an inevitability we just don't like to think about.
Someday our parents will be gone.
For a man in Maine it's a particularly big issue.
Maine artist John Joyce has Down syndrome and he's lived with and depended on his mother
his entire life.
She's 94 and he's her caretaker now.
Producer Colleen Udis has more.
John Joyce is playing a game of checkers in his living room.
This has been a nightly tradition for John since he was young.
He plays checkers most evenings with a worthy opponent.
My name is Doris Joyce and I'm Johnny's mother and I'm 94 years old.
I play checkers with my mom.
He's also good to make me play games and they keep me from being bored.
I'm Peter and she lost it.
I'm giving that to be cook.
John has Down syndrome.
At 53 years old he spent his entire life living in Boat in Maine with his mother.
John is about 5 feet tall.
He wears a black fanny pack and thick framed by vocals, the kind that tint in the sunlight.
He grew up in a household where he was treated no differently because of his disability.
Today as an adult, John is a successful artist and leads a fairly independent life.
He has a job, he plays racquetball and he goes bowling on Fridays.
Yet he needs some help and supervision with everyday things like cooking and taking
his medication.
It's been difficult in the fact that John doesn't seem to understand time.
He has a hard time getting up in the morning and getting what he needs done.
That's Dan Joyce.
He's John's older brother.
Dan moved in about two years ago.
After Doris broke her hip and began having more and more health problems.
John is an artist that spindle works.
It's an art center for adults with disabilities.
It's nine in the morning and John is working intently in a small area he calls his office.
His radio is tuned to an oldie station.
His desk is cluttered with paint brushes, markers and notes about mixing paint colors.
Pictures of friends and family hang on the wall.
Today, John is working on a portrait of Elvis Presley, his favorite musician.
I've been in the works for ten years.
I enjoy it.
I have a big voice.
Around ten in the morning, John usually takes a break from his artwork.
On his own, he goes into town for a coffee break and snacks on peanut butter cups and
peppermint patties.
John was born in 1954.
During a time when it was common for children with Down syndrome to spend their lives in hospitals
or special institutions.
John's family disagreed with that approach.
We put the idea of institutionalizing them was not a good idea at all.
Our family didn't think John was a good candidate for that.
He had the ability to learn.
He was a contribution to the family.
He was fun to be around.
We had a lot of joy with John.
John never had a formal education.
The school wouldn't allow him to attend because of his disability.
John's mother Doris realized his potential when he was a young boy.
I started a private kindergarten out in my back room.
He had a blackboard made.
I took in half a dozen children.
He was a kindergarten class.
He'd be playing with blocks on the floor.
Well, I was working with the other children.
I put an A on the board and nobody seemed to know what it was, but he piped up and said
A.
He could read anything he wants.
He'd just buy more than he.
All kinds of things.
John's mom may have taught him to read, but John is a self-taught artist.
Jacket Spindle works.
John squirts yellow paint onto his palette.
He adds a drop of brown and mixes it.
He's using a very small brush to paint the final details of his Elvis painting.
John is serious about his art with good reason.
Project manager Liz McGee says most of his art pieces are commissioned by people who are
interested in his work.
There's an incredible honesty to the artwork here.
John paints and draws just what he feels, what he's feeling right inside.
It doesn't go through any filters.
He paints about his passions.
He paints about his heroes and nothing gets in the way of that.
And for him too, there's a lot of humor in his art.
But I think that's what's appealing to many people that it is very raw.
It's not edited.
It's just from the heart.
He's had a tremendous amount of success here as an artist.
People would come in and say, can you do a painting of me as superhero?
Can you do a portrait of Stevie Wonder for me?
Everything was driven by people coming and begging to have his work.
So in my mind, if you've got fans asking for your work, that's pretty exceptional.
John ends every day back at home with his family.
While Dan is cooking, John usually sets the table for dinner.
After dinner, John takes care of his aging mother.
It's going to put a drop in my eyes because I can't do it myself.
This nightly routine is likely to change.
The horse is 94, and the Joyce family is well aware of her increasing age in declining
health.
Children grow up, and usually they leave home and start live separate from their parents.
John grew up, but he never left home.
His mom has been a part of his everyday existence, his entire life.
So losing her will be especially devastating for him.
I know that one of the concerns we have for John is that, and perhaps all of us are
going to be...
I know we're going to be hurting when we see the passing of our mother, but John is
probably going to be the most affected.
He does have a special love relationship with her.
He's very loving.
He's...
He'll...
They do anything.
It's a washcloth.
It's an eye-dry.
And...
Doris tilts her head back, looks up at the ceiling, and pulls down underneath her eye.
And it's very nice.
It's nice to see her.
John hovers over her, and with steady hands, carefully places two drops in each eye.
Yeah, that's better.
Love is something that no matter how much you give it away, you can't give it away completely.
It just keeps coming back to you, and the more you love, the more love you get.
That's one of the principles that people need to learn about other people.
If you invest in them, then you'll get the dividends.
John's mom won't always be around.
He won't see her every day after work.
And the checkers' games will stop.
But that part of life hasn't happened just yet.
And today, John can still give her a kiss until she's beautiful.
Ah!
Ah, industry.
Well, through the phone, my mind.
For Salt Radio, I'm calling you this.
That story comes to its courtesy of the Salt Institute for Documentary Studies.
Mother is a universal concept, and one we've applied to the planet we live on.
Ojibwe Elder Sharon Day was born and raised in Minnesota.
Part of her spiritual practice is to care for water.
In 2003, she and other native women began Mother Earth Water Walks to raise awareness
of concerns about our water.
Each year, the Mother Earth Water Walkers invite everyone to join them.
This year's Water Walk followed the Mississippi River Headlands down to the Gulf of Mexico.
Making care of the environment and raising awareness about water pollution with healing
and prayers is an everyday concern for Ojibwe Elder and Mother Earth Water Walker Sharon Day.
My name is Sharon Day, and I'm a Ojibwe woman born and raised in Minnesota.
And I'm also a Medeouin, which is a faith practice of many in Isshnabey people here in North
America.
In the Medeouin spiritual ways, women are responsible for taking care of the water, and men are responsible
for the fire.
In 1998, we were approached by people who were working with Camp Cold Water.
They asked us to help them.
And so my sister and I were involved in that process for several years.
We were arrested for civil disobedience.
Our really hard primary job was to speak to the water spirits, make those offerings, and
I do believe that spring, even though it has a diminished capacity, is still flowing because
people remember the spring and offer their same to the water spirits.
In 2003, Josephine Madaman, Sharon Day and other indigenous women began to plan activities
to raise awareness about water quality, called water walks.
The water walker carries water in a copper vessel, praying for the water with each step.
The way Josephine tells it, she was sitting at her window one day, overlooking like superior,
and thinking to herself, what can I do?
I'll carry the water around like superior to raise awareness.
Josephine organized walks around the Great Lakes, and in the meantime, you know, I mean,
my sister organized some local walks here, people walked around, Como, and did some water
ceremonies.
After many water walks, a large four directions walk to place in 2011.
With Sharon as the lead walker from the south, starting on the beach of Gulf Port Mississippi,
walking to Lake Superior.
A couple years ago, a young woman said, well, what would happen if we had a four directions
water walk?
And then that resulted in the four directions walk where we brought the water from the four
oceans to the center of Turtle Island, which is where we are right now, and our mission
was to move the water, to raise awareness, to people across Turtle Island about what's
happening to our water.
The waters of the Pacific, the Gulf, the Atlantic, and the Arctic Hudson Bay, were poured into
a container and then out into Lake Superior.
As Josephine said, as we've comengled out for, you know, now these waters will confer with
each other before they make their way back to the oceans, but they will know that we
prayed for the water every step of the way.
As we were concluding our journey from the south with the water, I couldn't help but begin
to think to myself, like, what can I do next?
And as I looked at the Eagle Feather staff that I was carrying, I had actually etched the
Mississippi River on the staff and covered the entire length of the staff.
And I knew then that, you know, the next walk would be to carry that pure, clean water
from the headwaters at Lake Superior to the Gulf of Mexico.
The water walks invite both indigenous and non-indigenous people to participate.
It's a leap for our Gal Day Long.
So we began, early in the mornings, we can get the walkers going.
Maybe you walk like 10 or 15 minutes at a very brisk pace.
You hand off the water vessel and the Eagle Feather staff to another person or a person's
they walk for 10 or 15 minutes and then you just keep doing that all day long.
That way you're able to walk 20, 25 miles a day.
This is a song that my sister wrote and it's really based on the words of Dr. Moodle
and it simply says, water, we love you, water we thank you, and water we respect you.
The water walks continue to raise awareness about the preciousness of water, inviting
individuals and organizations to come together for their annual water walk.
This is Tixi Trichle for KFAI.
10,000 fresh voices on KFAI is made possible by listeners like you and the Minnesota Arts
and Cultural Heritage Fund.
Coming up, a mother who started very young and a mom who was the first companion to her
now famous sons travels.
If you missed part of this show or want to hear it again, visit the 51% archives at
www.amc.org.
This week's show is number 1243.
This year about 450,000 American teenagers become mothers.
As they try to balance diapers and homework, it is not surprising that fewer than half of
teen parents graduate from high school with their peers.
Producer Sarah Elzas has this profile of a teen mom living in Waterville, Maine.
That's it, kiss and torture.
Like I went to swap sat when I got pregnant with James.
I figured I could do it.
I thought it was easy then.
I was like, I don't know what everybody's talking about.
We're taking care of kids is easy.
But it's not.
I love it now.
It's frustrating but.
I'm Kathy.
I'm 16.
My boyfriend's name's Don.
He's 20.
We have a son James.
He just turned two yesterday.
We have a son next year's turn five months.
I live in Waterville, Maine.
Don't want to work out Ruby Tuesdays for Waterville.
My dad helps us pay the rent.
Now I swear I could kiss them all day.
Oh my God, oh my God.
James poured necklace this formula on the floor.
No, we need to seriously sit down and have discussion about this.
I took him as badger than I talked to him.
Formula is mad expensive.
This little can cost 15 bucks.
It has those scooters in it.
And they use the scooters at daycare as toys.
I don't think he understands really.
It's hard though when something's a toy at one place and then in another place.
If he makes me too mad then I have to go like I shut myself in the bathroom.
And I cool off and then I go and I talk to him.
Because I know that sometimes people get mad and when they get really mad they say they're do stuff.
They're grabbed so it's better just take a few minutes and relax.
I know you like it.
I know you like it.
I know you like it.
Don't stink.
I just realized this morning that it's actually saying that.
I love outgains.
I feel like I have to be a woman.
But sometimes I'm going to be 16.
My grandmother told me to get an abortion.
I don't believe in it.
I mean she weren't upset about it.
She used to want me before she moved kid.
She deals with it now.
She loves boys.
When I was five months old my mom died.
It's no big deal to me.
Everybody's always like I'm sorry.
But I'm sorry for what?
Because it's just life now.
But I think that made it so that I kind of had to grow up.
And definitely having kids I had to grow up.
I'm definitely mature for being 16.
That's for sure.
All right so we had a long time since it was our last parenting class together.
I go to school at the main children's home for the Wonders.
It's a teen parent school.
It's cool there like it.
So I wanted to just kind of first check in.
My history and parenting teachers, Janne Bergoin,
in parenting class.
We do worksheets.
We talk about our kids.
We talk more than we do work.
We just do work.
Definitely.
Why is it often hard to get along with the two year old?
They're so close.
We talk about all kinds of stuff.
Questions we have.
We stuff our kids down.
So they're constantly frustrated.
So if you can help them, it's in the class.
Because all this about toddlers, you know,
when James is like sitting there screaming
and I just want to like take him and shake him so bad.
You know I'll sit there and I'll just feel him and I'll feel him.
And then I'll sit there and I'll be so mad.
And I'll clutch myself and I'll be like he's little.
He doesn't understand.
He's frustrated.
He can't talk about his little, oh, not I'm like James.
You just got to.
Oh my.
Some of that.
I don't listen to about some of it.
I do.
I can't get the discipline thing.
That's.
They make it sound easier than it really is.
Like they make it seem like you can always just sit there
and calmly tell him, so that it was just hard.
Because they don't listen.
Definitely.
I always wanted to be a lawyer.
Not.
Not anymore.
After my family gave me the reality of what I was going to be like in college,
they call the reading.
And I was like nah.
I hate reading.
I've always hated reading.
I'm going to try to be a accountant.
I only want to be an accountant because it makes my money.
I never stand still.
I like it that I have both of the boys, you know, I'm young.
Because when they turned 18, I still be young.
Hopefully I'm looking pretty decent.
I think I'd be a better mom being younger because I'll be able to relate to them better.
I want them to know that they can tell me anything and that it will be okay to me every day.
My biggest fear of that is begging will change.
They won't go to love me.
All right, come here when you're not mad anymore.
More attention to giving them away, doesn't it?
James, come here, sweetie.
I don't know, I just get headaches sometimes because listen to everybody shout school and
they come in home and listen to crying kids all day.
Oh, I'm sorry.
If I could still have the same kids I would have waited.
I'd let my kids.
Or I could not feel wrong.
My howl, how it is.
Who likes that?
James, I think you should all think about that.
That story came to us from independent producer Sarah Elsis at the Salt Institute for Documentary Studies.
And finally, a story that reminded me of the trips I took with my own children.
Rick Steves, travel guide writer, TV host and host of an NPR travel show,
talks about his first travel partner, his mother.
It was 1969 and I was a wide eyed 14 year old when she introduced me to Europe.
As my dad was busy doing business with European piano builders, he imported pianos,
my mother and I immersed ourselves in the wonders of Europe.
On that first dip into Europe, we'd watch Dutch bicyclists gather at a stoplight
on the way to the fields, wouldn't choose filling their little handlebar baskets.
Venturing into our first subway ride ever, we found our way to a stop called Trucadero,
emerged, turned the corner and set eyes for the first time on the jaw-dropping Eiffel Tower.
Together we puzzled at neoclassical buildings that looked both new and ancient.
We collected souvenir pins to fill my Bavarian felt hat.
When friends in Germany gave us a tin of white asparagus, we opened it and marvelled together
at what looked like a rare albino vegetable.
And with Norwegian relatives, we traveled to the fjord where we found the actual house
from where my mother's mother left for the Newland.
In her case, Canada.
One of my favorite photos is of me and my mom with our host Sin Austria in a dusty village
on the border of communist Hungary.
It was 1969.
Mom had just introduced me to a man who claimed to have witnessed the assassination of Archduke
Franz Ferdinand in 1914, which kicked off World War I.
Whether he actually sought or not, the story had me wide eyed.
June Steve's was born of Norwegian immigrants Harold and Irna Fremherley on June 29, 1931
in Edmonton, Alberta.
They eventually moved to Seattle, where mom fell in love with my dad, Dick Steve's.
The romance produced three children, me and my two sisters, as well as six grandchildren
and proved to be lifelong.
In my mom's family, being of good stock was the ultimate compliment.
Her mom and her mom's mom always talked about it.
It must be a Norwegian thing, good stock to survive a hard life.
It was as if offspring were like plants that needed to survive a winter snow.
Mom certainly was good stock.
In fact, my fear was that her tough Norwegian body would long outlive her Alzheimer's brain.
In that regard, her death was both timely and the blessing.
Looking at her in that hospital bed, even with her pale face strained of life,
I saw a noble woman of beauty and strength.
I saw the power of maternal love.
I saw and I will remember a strong, timeless woman of good stock, Viking stock.
At 1.30am on December 29, 2011, I held my mom's hand and stroked her head,
as she peacefully took her last breath.
Losing your mother takes you to places you've never been.
There's a void.
You see things differently.
You realize how much emotion is inside you.
You find there's a bucket of tears reserved, especially for mothers.
Collecting my thoughts about mom's death, I find myself going ethnic, going prime evil.
Coming together as mom died, we cradled her.
It was as if we created with our family loved ones and pastor, a Viking ship.
In some torch lit burial ceremony, a thousand years ago, in Norway.
At that dreaded but epic moment, I appreciated the cyclical nature of life.
June Steve's brought us in, and those she raised and loved saw her out.
The worst day of my time is here.
That's our show for this week.
Thanks to Katie Britain for production assistance.
Our theme music is by Kevin Bartlett.
This show is a national production of Northeast Public Radio.
Our executive producer is Dr. Alan Shartock.
If you'd like to hear this show again or visit the 51% archives, go to our website at www.amc.org.
Thanks so much for joining us.
We'll be back next week with another edition of 51% The Women's Perspective.
Happy Mother's Day, mom.
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