Known to her family and siblings as Beryl Mae; known to Dad and friends as Beryl; she was known simply as Mom to me and my siblings.

Have you ever looked back on a time in your life and suddenly realized that what you had previously taken for granted was hiding something really important? That’s exactly what happened to me a few months ago.

As an amateur genealogist with a penchant for uncovering the stories within my family’s history, I’ve often found myself captivated by the intricacies of generational connections. Recently, I delved into the life of my mother, Beryl Mae McKinnis, and my memories of her. It was a voyage of discovery that revealed striking parallels between our lives as you shall see.

Growing up I was very proud of Mom. She was not only beautiful to me, but she was elegant and graceful as well. And an excellent homemaker. Our home was perpetually tidy but not in an intimidating way. She prepared excellent, nourishing, well-balanced meals – many of her recipes I use to this day and my own children grew up on them. I can still name them off the top of my head: Italian Delight, Casserole BBQ Chicken, Mom’s Pinto Beans (a side dish that was always served with the rib eye steaks my Dad loved so much), Salmon Loaf, Cherry Treat, Rice Pudding cooked in the oven, Apple Crisp, and above all, Mom’s Fried Chicken. She made the best Fried Chicken you ever tasted. We all loved going on picnics, because it meant Mom would stay up half the night frying chicken to be brought along on the picnic, cold the next day, accompanied by her Potato Salad.

I still love telling the Grands about Mom’s Pinto Beans. She’d make them from dried beans, of course (no canned beans back then) and that big ol’ pot of beans would sit on the back of the stove at a low simmer all day long. The household rule in those days was that we all had to stir the beans every time we went through the kitchen on our way to somewhere else – even Dad had to stir if it was on the weekend and he was home.

I remember the late afternoons when she would disappear into her bedroom only to re-emerge a half hour later, freshly showered, hair artfully arranged, face enhanced with just a touch of makeup, dressed in a becoming shirtwaist dress with matching heels – all in readiness for Dad’s arrival home from work. She’d put the finishing touch on their cocktails as he walked through the door, dinner waiting in the oven until he’d had a chance to unwind a bit from his day. Then we would all sit down at the table together to enjoy the delicious meal she had prepared. Very 1950s, I know, but that’s how it was, at least in our family.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that she got so many of her ideas from magazines like Good Housekeeping, Ladies’ Home Journal, and Better Homes and Gardens. She found new styles and recipes, housekeeping and organizational tips, and ‘How to be the Perfect Wife’ articles. She collected recipes and cookbooks, made drapes for the windows, created prom dresses for my sister and me when we got older. She was a follower of Betty Crocker, a symbol of the idealized American housewife of the 1950s .

It was many years later, when I was a wife, mother, and homemaker in my own right, that I started thinking about how alike we were. Like her, I love to cook, and enjoy keeping our home nicely decorated, well-organized, and tidy. I read today’s versions of her magazines like Good Housekeeping and Better Homes and Gardens, along with the more recent Real Simple and Martha Stewart magazines, not to mention watching cooking shows on TV. I collect cookbooks and recipes just as she did, trying most of the recipes and treasuring the ones my family loves best. The biggest difference being in how we each collected these things, especially recipes – Mom hand-wrote them on index cards or cut them out of magazines while I find any recipe I want on the internet and simply print it out or use it from my tablet. I’ll never forget the thrill of finding a recipe for Boston Cream Pie on the Internet one day. I was ecstatic because Mom’s recipe for it had been lost – this one was an exact replica of an old family favorite!

It’s strange to me now that I didn’t see all of this sooner – I guess I was just too busy growing up, being a teenager, going out on my own for the first time, finding my way in the world.

As I traced these threads of culinary passion and homemaking values, it became clear that Mom had unknowingly shaped my journey as a homemaker. And I had unknowingly absorbed her wisdom and embraced her values, all without realizing the extent of our shared passions because mine didn’t materialize until after I’d grown and left home for a family of my own.

My exploration into our history as homemakers led me to a profound idea. Beyond the recipes, cookbooks, and homemaking trends, Mom had imparted to me a deeper understanding of the importance of family, tradition, and the nurturing of loved ones. She had instilled in me the belief that the heart of a home lies not just in its cleanliness and culinary delights but in the love and care that permeate its rooms.

As I reflect on the journey of “like mother, like daughter,” I’m reminded that our lives were woven with threads of parental influence and familial inheritance. Mom is gone now, but her legacy lives on within me, shaping the way I nurture my own family and the love I pour into every dish prepared in my kitchen. And the best part? I can see the same threads weaving themselves from her, through me, to my boys, and forever forward.

My only regret is that I never did master the art of her Fried Chicken – I just can’t seem to get it right.