Screenwriter

My Mom the Georgia Peach

Myrtice Etta Smith was lent to the earth on October 30, 1925. A high-energy Georgia hardwood lumberman and a sweeter than molasses country girl were her parents. Her mother died at twenty-six leaving Myrtice and her two little sisters to be raised by her grandparents on a Georgia farm while her father searched the forest for fine furniture hardwoods to harvest and sell.

Myrtice lived her life like it was going out of style. Before the darks days of her sprit-killing dementia, everyone who met her, were blown away by her high-body motor that drove her to achieve almost impossible tasks.

Some people are born with a nervous twitch or a foot taping to the sound of a mystery drum in their head. Myrtice’s entire body and soul were aroused forward by the sound of a Fourth of July marching band.

She was Valedictorian of her high school class, an avid reader and wanted to be a writer someday but settled instead to go to beauty school to become a hairdresser for the time being. Her novel would have to wait; she had money to make and places to see.

Her favorite book and movie was “Gone With The Wind.” She would joke to her son Mike on many occasions, “that Scarlett O’Hara almost had it right…but she was a little too nice!” Then she would laugh at her own joke until tears filled her eyes. She loved to smile and raise other people’s spirits…she was the queen of good times.

Like the mother Grizzly Bear protecting her cubs, she worked her butt off searching for food and shelter for her two little boys. Myrtice had to leave her boys with a grandmother to watch while she worked her hair styling trade late into the day to pay her bills.

She perfected her skills, winning contests and was chosen to be the royal stylist for the Queen of Thailand on her visit to Hollywood.

She liked to rescue people from bad things, but her choice of men was almost her undoing, most had trouble with alcohol. Myrtice was going to reform them…but not to sobriety but to sensibility. Like most southerners she knew, who were church going folks, but enjoyed an occasional mint julep or taste of brown whiskey.

Clyde Cannon was out fighting the war and proposed to her in a letter…how could she refuse? So she didn’t. She felt trapped by Clyde’s family and even though loved him she didn’t really know him. Myrtice ran off to California with her baby son to find herself and get away from the pressure of the Cannon family.

She found her way in California, but for years made countless trips back to Georgia to see her grandparents, sisters, aunts, uncles and a horde of cousins, first, second and twice removed, as she would say.

Myrtice was not the typical chocolate cookie-baking grandmother of storybook lore. The cars she drove fit her personality. Starting with a Fifty-Six Studebaker Skylark, she flew hell-bent down highway eighty back and forth between Southern California and Georgia. Next came a list of sport cars, most notably a Datsun Black 240 Z she would pilot her grandsons to and from her home overlooking the pier in San Clemente, California. She adored her son Patrick’s, Lisa, Adam and Heather. As for Michael’s children, she played golf with Ryan, took Kirk and Kevin on trips to the beach. Myrtice saw a little of her self in Michelle and wanted her to have her wedding ring.

My mom was stern and demanding at times. After she would give me a switching on my bare legs for my bull-headed antics, a lot of times she would hold me in her arms and cry with me and whisper in my ears, “Mikie please forgive me…this hurts me more than you…I love you.”

On April 29, 2010, at 84, she went back to God’s farmhouse in heaven.

My mom wasn’t just okay she was the best!!!