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My name is Ted Beck, Joyce Beck was my mother.
When I was a child growing up in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., I knew my Mom was different from those of my friends. Her unique accent and high-pitched voice would make me cringe when she visited my school. Not wanting to stand out from the crowd, I wished I had a mom who was more ordinary. She once volunteered at school to lecture my fifth grade class on the "Culture of India." Mom put on a quite a theatrical production in front of the room waving her hands and getting excited as she displayed saris, bangles and artwork. The girls sitting up front were held in rapt attention. In the back I saw the boys roll their eyes. Slowly each of them shifted their gaze to me and shook their heads in disapproval. I felt two feet tall.
Forty three years later I am grateful that Mom was unique. As I grew up, I started appreciating what a lucky son I was. Mom lived her life listening to an inner voice, one that would guide her and give her strength in times of trouble. Her travels allowed her to study the major religions of the world and she delighted in those beliefs that seemed universal. She had high moral values, ones that worked for her but, for her son, are so hard to live up to. Yet, when I need guidance, it isn't very hard to imagine what her advice would be. All I need to do is listen for my own inner voice, the one that she planted early in me.
Mom wrote notes about her life which I have expanded upon and matched with pictures from her photo albums. I hope you take the time to read the story, especially if you knew her.
I was interested in displaying high quality pictures so I hope you have a high speed connection, have your resolution set at 1024x768 and you have a 17" monitor or better.
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(Don't talk badly about my mother, she's a saint!)
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