My wild Irish rose,
the sweetest flower that grows,
you may search everywhere,
but none will compare with my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish rose,
the dearest flower that grows,
and someday for my sake,
she may let me take the bloom
from my wild Irish Rose.
As a youngster, I always believed he was talking about a flower. I wondered why Mom was always smiling about a silly flower. Now I see that she knew he was expressing his love for her, and she, in turn, was giving it back to him—only him. What a beautiful form of expression. What a beautiful form of undying love between two special people truly made for each other.
Janie and Jim Schroeder were two of the most sociable people I had ever met. They were always involved with groups of people, helping in any way they could—Mom’s monthly girl get-together with other mothers who knew they deserved a break from the family and took it, PTA, Mater Dei Men’s Club, Sacred Heart festivals, Fall Festivals. They always had a great time sharing their time with others and volunteering every chance they got. Being outside with others, meeting throughout the year with the very fun and adventurous Scheller family (Mom’s family) for get-togethers and reunions—the more, the merrier. This is what made us always love the chance to visit and enjoy the outdoors.
After my father passed and during COVID, my mom insisted on still going out to eat, going to mass, and enjoying her time in public. Sitting at home, confined to her house, was not what this 87-year-old wanted. “I’m 87, I’m ready to see my husband in heaven, and I am not going to let this pandemic keep me from living my last years on this earth confined to my house.” It was a tough decision at a time when the country had very different views on what was acceptable and what was nearly unthinkable, as over 300 million Americans had to individually do what was best in their hearts while respecting others’ fears about what they were hearing and seeing from our very different administrations, news agencies, and the CDC. So, it was not uncommon for my brother and me to take her out to eat, going to restaurants where we might be the only ones there. She called it her vacation.
Although we loved the fact that she was not going to let this event in history change her from who she always was, as her children, we did have to ponder the question. If she did get COVID and died, or if she got COVID and others got it from her, could we accept that? She was struggling with dementia, which had an adverse effect on her short-term memory, and we, like many individuals taking care of our elderly loved ones, had a difficult time communicating.
A Love Story 70 Years in the Making
Jim and Janie Schroeder met one night at a free outdoor movie screening. For the next 65 years, they showed a family and a world what it truly means to love your partner so much that generations of their descendants will remember how just two people can change the world for the better. They also taught all those who knew them how their shared love for each other was a catalyst for sharing so many things with those around them. My mother would often say, “When you share what you have with those around you, many good things happen. Not only are you giving something to people that they may want or need, and for that, you are making others happy on many levels. But,” she often added, “you are going to find that in sharing, you will receive an even greater gift—a feeling of joy and peace that can be indescribable.” And she was right. Notice sometimes how you feel emotionally when you offer something to someone, and their smile as they accept it transcends to you an internal feeling of warmth and appreciation. It always has for me. She would also describe the importance of making sure you accept the gift you are being offered so that the giver can experience that simple moment of joy. This is probably one of the reasons I have always struggled with my weight, for never turning down a cookie or candy bar. Always accept their offer to make them feel good. And yes, it always worked.
So, as I watched my parents share their love for each other—like seeing my mother meet my dad each day as he came home from work and give him a hug and kiss at the door—that simple gesture brought great joy to myself and my four siblings that all was good in our world.
This is the story of the love life of two Evansville West Siders that definitely made me feel I was so very blessed. My brother and three sisters shared a house on the corner of a close-knit neighborhood in the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s. It was a relatively quiet time, one reminiscent of the series *The Wonder Years.* As a strong Catholic family that found themselves going to Sunday mass at 11 o’clock every week, sitting in the same pew, we knew growing up what Mom and Dad felt were the important issues in life—respect for your elders, getting a good education, knowing how to have fun, making sure the closeness of the family was paramount, and loving God.
My dad had served in the Navy upon graduation from high school just as the Korean War was winding down. He was stationed on the aircraft carrier the USS Wasp, and he often expressed his great love and admiration for this country because of what he saw on his world tour. “When you see how fortunate this country is compared to many that we visited, it gives you great pride to be an American and thank all those who helped to get us our freedoms that allow anyone who is willing to work hard to dream and possibly get whatever they want.” Although Mom and Dad did not go to college, I felt from a very early age they possessed a wisdom that made me feel they were special and together made very smart decisions.
One I will never forget was the day I surprised everyone in the family around the breakfast table when I noticed Dad smoking his cigarette. He was about a one-pack-a-day smoker. He admits he picked up the habit in the military, one he wasn’t really proud of, and I would see him smoke one or two after each meal and maybe one at night. But today, at the age of 7, I felt this confident urge to ask one of my greatest questions ever. “Hey Dad, do you mind if I try one of those?”
You could have heard a cigarette drop as my siblings looked at me like I had lost my mind. Was I crazy to think Dad would let me smoke one? In fact, I’m probably in big trouble just for asking. I noticed he gave a quick glance to my mom, and she, in turn, gave a subtle nod. “Sure, John, I’ll let you try one, but you have to promise me that you will smoke the whole thing.” My sister’s jaws dropped as I got up from the table with this air of “watch this, girls.” But 20 minutes later, I was no longer feeling any bit of air. I was so sick. My mom said I turned nearly green, and I felt so bad that I was not able to go to school that day. As I lay in bed feeling the worst I could ever remember, I decided right there and then I would never touch another cigarette for as long as I lived. Genius. I’m sure Dad realized that this could have gone the other way, but I truly believe that he knew how much of an addiction these costly vices had on him and this was his way of teaching me to never go there. Wow, did it work. I often tell people that if he had given me a six-pack of beer at 9 and an escort at 11, how my life would have been different. Ah… Seriously, I’m kidding about the six-pack.
An interesting note: some years later, my dad stopped smoking cold turkey. The day before he stopped, he had a terrible cough that lasted all day. It was so chronic he told Mom that he thought he may not make it through the night, so he prayed to God and told God if he lived through the night, he would never smoke again. By morning, the coughing had ceased, and he never picked up another cigarette. Funny, it was almost six months later when my mom asked us kids if we had noticed anything different about Dad. None of us had realized that he was no longer smoking. Like I said, he wasn’t a big smoker, so it wasn’t that obvious. This was just one of many instances where this was not just a good dad—this guy was great. He was also very tough. He was not a real big guy, but he had a very high tolerance for pain.
To save money, he would not have the dentist ever use novocaine when he had dental work. He knew he could save the family money for something more important. Another example was that on a few occasions when we were out rabbit hunting, we came upon what looked like an electric fence, and he would gently hold it between his thumb and forefinger and then tell me it wasn’t hot. At which point, I would come over to take his gun so we could cross over safely. All of a sudden, he would reach out and shock the crap out of me. He was literally able to withstand the pain so as to not show the current going through him until he was close enough to touch me. Amazing. He also had great control of his language. I very seldom heard him cuss, and in 60 years, I never heard him say the F-word.
Just How Smart Were My Parents?
It was years later, after I became a parent myself, that I looked back on my two high school graduate parents and began to realize that they made a whole lot of very wise decisions in raising a family. Even though my father earned a relatively low wage as an extrusion operator at a large plastics company, they were very smart with their money. As five kids growing up, we never felt poor or without anything. Yes, we were a one-car family for a while, but we were constantly going on trips, to the movies, and enjoying wonderful meals in our nice three-story house. We had it all, at times. There never seemed to be any money fights that I remember.
There came a time when my stay-at-home mom, with five kids all getting a private Catholic education (which was not cheap), realized that a second source of income would really be beneficial. This was during the era when women were starting to enter the workforce more frequently, as dual incomes became more prevalent. But my mom understood how important it was to be there every day with her family. She truly felt that being a full-time mother was crucial to raising and guiding us. In what I think was a brilliant move to have the best of both worlds, she decided to start a babysitting service in our home for neighbors and relatives who had decided to work outside the home.
Suddenly, Mrs. Schroeder was watching 2-6-year-old children during the day while still being able to be a full-time mom to us. For the next 30 years, this was her way of sharing her love with many children while showing her own children that there are always options in tough situations. What started as having a few extra kids in the house soon turned into a lively group of 6-8 regulars. Many years later, her daughter and granddaughters would use this same wise income opportunity to be stay-at-home moms while supplementing the family income.
When I turned about eight years old, it became a game for mom that if I didn’t get out of bed by her second wake-up call (I was not a morning person back then), she would send up the troops to help me out. Imagine six little ones jumping on you, laughing uncontrollably while you’re pretending to sleep. They wouldn’t stop until I finally got my feet on the floor and tapped out. This happened so many mornings, and even to this day at the age of 62, the sound of children laughing is so intoxicating as I remember those hilarious moments.
So wise was my mom and such a loving person that her time and teaching of these small gems made her the person everyone wanted to send their kids to. Yes, Mrs. Schroeder, as she was called by everyone, was a great teacher. By a certain age, they were taught how to tie their shoes, learn their ABCs, color, skip, and play ring-around-the-rosie. They learned that “please” and “thank you” were magic words, but most importantly, they learned how to have fun. Mrs. Schroeder believed that children need to be and stay children for quite a while. They would have many years to face the responsibilities and stresses of being an adult. But at this age, their number one responsibility was to be a kid, to value laughter above all else, and never let an adult tell them they couldn’t have fun.
Mom had a sign that hung for many years that read, “The only day wasted is one without laughter” by C.C. Cummings. At her house, having fun was more important than anything else, and if you were going to bring a treat, you had to have enough to share. The rest of your life, after you are 10 or 20 or 50, you could take life seriously if you needed to, but Mrs. Schroeder made you laugh. Or else you got tickled. What a smart woman. I guess that is where I learned her 11th commandment: having fun is still one of the most important traits I learned from her.
One other memory that constantly makes me smile is the wisdom of children. I loved to wrestle with them when I was around 10 years old, and this continued while I enjoyed the actual sport of wrestling for our grade school. Being older and stronger than they were, it became one of their favorite pastimes to beat me up. Rules were simple: John had to stay on his knees, usually on the basement carpeting. After that, there were no rules. They were so wise that they would attack me in groups of three. Starting out, I would normally have the upper hand, but once the three got tired, they would retreat as fresh grapplers charged at me with reckless abandon and laughter. One grabbing my head, two on my back—whatever it took to slowly wear me down. This would go on for sometimes half an hour. As they saw my strength and breathing wane, they would all pile on and smother me with their 30-pound bodies until I eventually shouted, “I GIVE! I GIVE!” in total exhaustion and admiration for their strategy of how to beat the monster three small toddlers at a time.
After each victory, Mrs. Schroeder would always give Kool-Aid and cookies to the winners, and I would get to take out the trash and clean up the basement. Years later, when I began to find success in my wrestling career, partially due to my endurance over my opponents, I can assume that these very long extended matches with the kids had to have helped. So yes, I am the person who loves the sound of playgrounds, children talking in church (they are just singing, you know), and the activities at an outdoor daycare. If the wonderful sounds of children playing are not music to your ears, I feel sorry for you. What greater gift has our Creator bestowed on us? Where can you find more joy, happiness, and a reason to smile than in the delight of a young one? Once again, my mother shared with us for many years one of God’s greatest gifts to mankind: the wonder of children.
Years later, it was apparent that my parents knew how to set up a budget and follow it. Their net worth by the time they hit their 80s was amazing when you realize how much my dad and mom made and all the things they allowed us to do. Paying for our education and vacations, never missing a football game or a child, grandchild, or great-grandchild sporting event, and going to all the countless school activities, fishing, and hunting—which, I must admit, helped provide many meals that saved them lots of money. Another way to save was that we loved to eat popcorn during movie night and most weekends. So Dad found a place in Princeton, Indiana, where they sold popcorn in 50-pound bags. Yes, my guess is we went through about two of these bags per year. Mom would save the bacon grease whenever we had bacon, and with a little salt, we had a dessert loved by all. It was all-you-could-eat popcorn. Our budget bowl was a grocery brown bag that we would just keep passing around to everyone in the living room whenever we wanted it.
Mom would fix great meals of fried chicken, and we all had our favorite piece. Somehow, I always ended up with the leg and the neck. Lucky me, the neck. There is a story there somewhere. Pizza, spaghetti, steak, roasts—Mom made them all. Since we were Catholic, every Friday night was fish, and Saturday was always hamburgers and french fries. If we were lucky, we would get to go to McDonald’s—10 cents a hamburger—so we ordered about $4 worth. Yes, these were the good old days. Cherry trees for fruit in the springtime, and many summer weekend nights found the family heading to the drive-in movies. This was fairly inexpensive entertainment where we would watch 2-3 movies a night, all G or PG, of course, except that one night when Mom and Dad both fell asleep and the third movie was R-rated. I think we got to the part where the F-bomb was mentioned on the screen. My dad opened his eyes in shock, and like a rocket, the car was started, and the discussion of “why did no one wake us up” ensued. As the fourth in line, age-wise, I just stayed quiet and hoped someone remembered to take the speaker out of the window before Dad ripped it off the post.
One of the other things I respected about my parents was that we always knew right from wrong. They were very clear on most subjects: it was white or black, not a lot of gray area, which was so important for a family growing up in the ‘60s and ‘70s. Having those kinds of boundaries made it very easy to make the right decisions, and peer pressure was much easier to handle when our friends knew that if my dad said no, it was no. It was so easy for us to stay on the right path, knowing our parents would always have our back when we chose correctly. We were not spanked often, but if we were, we deserved it, and I do think it made our lives easier knowing punishment was only handed out when truly necessary. I think I can count on one hand the number of times my father spanked me. It was a few swats with his hand until I started to cry, which then taught me that the quicker I cried, the shorter the spanking—until the one day my dad realized I was using this ploy to shorten the event. I began the fake cry before he even laid a hand on me, and this did not turn out very well. “Now I will really give you something to cry about,” he said, and he did. The spanking was longer than usual, but I deserved it.
Two People In Love
The other wonderful way I knew my parents were in love was the way they would show it every day. As I’ve mentioned before, I would witness my mom meeting dad at the door to greet him with a kiss and heartfelt hug as she would ask him how his day was. I also learned through the years that behind closed doors, they were very affectionate with each other.
It was my 11th birthday, and they threw a big party for me with many of my cousins on that special Valentine’s Day. Yes, I was a Valentino baby, as they would say. For my birthday, they had gotten me an awesome baseball glove and baseballs. With a big cake, a huge meal, and lots of friends, they spared no expense for my special day. Later, as I laid in bed that night with my new baseball mitt on, I suddenly felt the need to go downstairs to their room and tell them just how much I loved them and appreciated all they did for me. I didn’t often go to their room at night, and so having the door closed, I assumed, was normal. So as I quickly knocked and opened the unlocked door and began to express my feelings of happiness, I saw something that I will, and have not been able to, unsee for over 50 years. Two energized bodies in perfect unison greeted me as I began to say, “Mom, Dad, I just want to tell you that… “holy cow,” I suddenly became speechless. My mother has said several times that what she was most embarrassed about was the fact that she was in the dominant role. As my mind grasped the fact that I was not going to get through my well-planned speech, and my dad was trying to throw the covers over themselves, I somehow got a “thank you” out as I quickly turned and closed the door behind me. I could hear my mom saying “Oh my God” as I very quickly ascended the stairs up to my bedroom. Somewhere along the way, I lost my mitt, and as I got back into my bed, I realized that my eleventh birthday had more surprises than I could have ever dreamed. It was about 10 minutes later that my dad knocked on my door and calmly asked, “Are you alright?” I very quietly said, “I think so,” knowing damn well that I really wasn’t. He sat on the corner of the bed.
He very nicely said, “I think you need to remember that when you knock on a closed door, you need to wait until someone tells you to come in.” Oh, thanks, Mr. Obvious. “It’s just I was so excited that you and Mom were so nice to me today.” I’ve always been a little impatient when I get excited. If nothing else, this did open up the opportunity to have that birds and bees talk, and trust me, I don’t think I ever had an occasion so important that I ever knocked on that closed door again. It was some 50 years later, when we were selling the house and collecting a number of sentimental items to pass out to my siblings, that I finally did look at the door that changed my life forever and realized there never was a lock on that door. But what I can say is that the love of my parents did not stop that night. Yes, it is acknowledged with my sister’s confirmation that my parents were very physically intimate well into their 80s (see The Beauty of Purity), and I am absolutely sure that much of the eternal love that my parents shared was partly because of the intense physical love they had with each other often. Here was a letter my mother gave to dad to prove the importance of how physical love between two people who will spend their lives together is one of God’s greatest gifts to mankind. I just wish God had shared with them the importance of a locked door, just in case your euphoric son can’t wait to tell you how happy he is.
With all the great times I remember about my parents, many Saturday mornings I would wake up at 4 am to go fishing with my dad, driving two hours to fish below Kentucky Lake with our wonderful fishing partner, Mr. Fischer. Yes, we would get there just as the sun was coming up to have a delicious breakfast before we took the boat right up near the face of the dam and fished for blue catfish all day while listening to all the great fish stories my dad and Ham (his nickname) would tell for hours on end as I sat back waiting for the big ones to bite and worked on my suntan. Very strange that I had a gene in my body that would turn me a very dark brown so very quickly, and I would very seldom ever burn. To this day, I still absorb the sun’s rays very well and stay dark all summer long. Strange. But these fishing trips again proved that my dad could have very easily left me home, and they could have taken another adult to share in the man trip. But no, year after year, I was the lucky one to fish in the boat surrounded by many other boats in an area that was known for catching blue cats and spoonbill catfish that could get gargantuan in size. There were some that tipped the scale at over one hundred pounds, though we never got that lucky. But it didn’t matter. After about eight hours, our live bags were teeming with great-tasting fiddlers that we would actually clean there in the boat, ensuring the family had a true seafood feast for months to come.
But this is never to say that my dad and I did not have our disagreements, and as a confident communicator who definitely had an opinion, I can remember two very vivid discussions that, as I became older, tested my father’s resolve as to just how long I was going to be a member of his house. What did that mean when it was still in his house and rent or no rent, he was still very much in charge? The one heated debate occurred when, at the age of 20 while attending college, I was the last sibling to be living at home. It was a great setup for me, only being 10 minutes away from the university and having all the comforts of living at home with all the perks of coming and going as I pleased. Joining a fraternity and still getting to spend time with my parents when those opportunities presented themselves, I guess looking back, for a $100 a month rent (it seemed like a lot then), it was a good introduction to what a living budget would look like someday. At the same time, if they were really honest with me, my mom probably didn’t want her last baby to leave the house. Dad, however, was probably ready for an empty nest. But here was the big argument as I remember it. Dad had agreed to let me get HBO if I paid for it, but I’m not sure he realized just how explicit it could be even though in today’s standards it was still pretty tame. Mom and dad would usually go to bed early, and normally I wasn’t even home to watch it until after they went to bed during the week. But my father was very much against vulgarity, especially the F-word. A word I never heard him utter in his entire life. That word was not spoken in the house ever. And I was definitely good with that. However, he forgot to tell the HBO people this, and the first night he was up and heard that on a movie I was watching, he immediately came into the room and demanded I turn the movie off and went one step further in telling me that HBO was no longer allowed in the Schroeder home. This would have been 1980. And televisions were just starting to offer multiple channels with many R-rated shows that many of the older generation were not comfortable with. Immediately, my mind went into debate mode, which it tends to do when I do not get my way or people disagree with my line of thinking. As a communications major in college with an emphasis on public relations and a minor in psychology, I had participated in a number of debates, and thus I actually liked having disagreements with people to test my skills. It’s said you never want to debate me after a couple of Long Island iced teas. Just ask my best friends. But suddenly it occurred to me that my father, being a devout Catholic who could recite the Ten Commandments to perfection, had seen a number of shows throughout history that used the 3rd commandment, or the G..Damn utterance, more than once. So in a respectful way, as best I could, I said, “Well, dad, I realize we both don’t like the F-word, but I’m pretty sure the Bible feels using the Lord’s name in vain is a sin. What we heard on HBO is less offensive in the eyes of God.” I could see immediately in his reddening face that I had not only hit a nerve, but I was right and he didn’t like that. “I don’t care what you think. I will not have that word on our TV. THIS is my house and we are not going to keep HBO.” A smart, respectful son would have probably left it at that and moved on to another topic, but it was game on. I saw my mom coming down the stairs, and as a person who does enjoy everyone’s opinion, I decided to get her involved in the biblical discussion. “Mom, don’t you agree that the F-word in God’s eyes is not as offensive as GD? I mean, it says it in the Bible and it’s pretty clear cut. What do you think?” It did not win her points with dad, but my mom did like to tell the truth. “Well honey, he is right. The Bible says….” And she pretty much said the same thing I had expressed earlier.
Was it fair to bring my mom into the discussion? Did I not realize that if my dad wanted, he could force me to not only get rid of HBO but could have gotten rid of me by kicking me out of the house for good? And today, I
Reflections After a Pandemic
On Memorial Day 2018, my father passed away at the age of 87. We lost a great guiding light for what is truly good in the world. Shortly before he passed, when he was very weak, my mother sat with him on his bed, holding his hand. Despite his frailty, he found the strength and love to sing her the song he had sung a thousand times through all the wonderful years. I was able to video this touching moment. It was a poignant reminder of the deep bond they shared, and how my mother’s wants and desires were seen through different eyes, influencing decisions for her care and those around her.
During the pandemic, every news story and COVID count brought new information to analyze, leading to many debates about the right course of action for her care. As siblings, we often found ourselves at odds with each other over these decisions. One of the most memorable times during the decline of COVID was when I had the chance to take her to a gathering of wonderful friends who would meet annually to make kettle corn for a local fundraiser. For two glorious hours, Mrs. Schroeder enjoyed laughter with a group of 30 men who made her feel young again. She loved getting her picture taken with them and was especially entertained by a special dance my friend Greg performed for her, waving a dollar in the air. This experience once again showed me that laughter and the love of people are among God’s greatest gifts to be shared and enjoyed.
Notably, about two years into the pandemic, she contracted COVID. After a few days of mild symptoms, she recovered, though another sibling who helped care for her also contracted it. This began the debate about whether it was right for her to continue living her life as she always had. We questioned if her immune system gave her the ability to withstand what many her age could not and whether it was her choice to make that decision.
Time has shown me that she made the right decision. She deserved to choose how she lived her last years. Many elderly individuals were confined to their apartments, nursing homes, and convalescent centers, unable to experience the beauty of nature. Mrs. Schroeder, however, decided she would not die of loneliness and seclusion. She refused to let others dictate when she could attend Mass, see her grandchildren, or experience the world that kept her young at heart. Despite millions who might disagree, time proved she was wise beyond her years. She knew herself, her love of God, and her love for her husband. At 90 years old, she would not have changed a thing, and nor would I.