Children’s Questions: What Was My Mom Like?
I sort of lost a bit of inspiration for this blog due to business and family issues. Like many of us during the COVID years, I felt a loss of motivation. In a way, I didn’t stop the blog—but I quietly quit putting effort into it.
Then Andrew gave me a subscription to ‘Storyworth’, which allows my kids to submit questions for me to answer. I felt inspired by the idea—and motivated to write again.
So, as long as they keep the questions coming, I’ll make a commitment to the blog again.
Nothing is off limits. I’ll try to answer each question as honestly and completely as possible.
What Was Your Mom Like When You Were a Child?
I’m a child of the ’60s and ’70s—a late-generation baby boomer. My earliest complete memories begin in the late 1960s, around when I was five years old. Most of those memories center around my mom—Peggy Hill.
The Woman Everyone Loved
My mom was the quintessential ’60s-’70s mom—she experienced everything from Studio 54 in New York to hosting Tupperware parties. She had an outgoing, friendly personality that made her hard not to like. I don’t know a single friend or family member who has a bad memory of Peggy Hill. She was just that kind of genuinely kind person—the kind that drew people in with her warmth and humor.
When she passed in 2000, hundreds of people came to pay their respects—each with a story of kindness or love she had shown them.
A Tough Start
Peggy didn’t come from ideal circumstances. Her father, John Mulligan, was an alcoholic. Her mother, Elizabeth (Potts), passed away just 16 months after Peggy was born. The five Mulligan children were left to fend for themselves after their father spiraled deeper into abuse and addiction. Two siblings ended up in Philadelphia orphanages.
Fortunately, a maternal uncle took my mom in, and her older sister—Aunt Skeets—stepped in to care for her.
She told me once that she didn’t really know her father. One day, while walking with her sister past a South Philly stoop, they saw a couple of drunks passed out. Her sister said, “That’s your dad,” and my mom said she couldn’t tell which one he was.
John Mulligan died in April 1947. My mom was just 12.
Not a great start for any child.
Early Life & Education
Despite a rough beginning, Peggy was a bright student. She went to Catholic school and graduated salutatorian of her high school class—a fact she was immensely proud of (even if there were only 30 kids in the class).
For a poor girl from Philly with no support or resources, college wasn’t even a dream. So she went to work at the phone company.
I’ve always believed she had the intellect and drive to succeed in anything. I credit her strength and intelligence with being the force that pushed me to reach higher in life.
Mom in the ’60s and ’70s
When I was a kid, Mom was involved in everything. If you were writing a sitcom, she’d be the model housewife:
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President of the Junior Women’s League
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In a women’s bowling league
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Hosting Tupperware parties and game nights
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Leading Cub Scouts
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Teaching CCD
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Running neighborhood social groups
She made deep friendships in our community and at church. We’d call her friends “Aunt Joan” or “Aunt Elaine” because they were that close. She built a village for us—something she never had for herself growing up.
And the fact that she was Peggy Hill and I was her son Bobby is not lost on my readers who are also King Of the Hill fans. There was a lot of the fictional Peggy Hill in the real one.
Faith and Family
Faith was incredibly important to her. My sister and I went to mass regularly, and even after I was asked to leave the Catholic education system in 3rd grade (due to a stutter and behavioral issues), she kept me in religious education through CCD.
When I turned 10 and became eligible to be an altar boy, she demanded I be allowed—even though I didn’t go to Catholic school. The compromise? I got the 6 a.m. masses. She never let me miss one—waking up at 5:45 a.m. every Sunday to make sure I was on time.
That’s who she was: relentlessly supportive. I was chubby, shy, and had a stutter—but she refused to let the world shut me out.
She pushed me to try every sport (I sucked at all of them). But she gave me the chance to try. Always.
Working Woman & Support System
When I was around 11, she started working outside the home. First at Harriet Carter Gifts as a line packer, then as a bank teller. Eventually, she moved into collateral loans and earned the respect of her peers and senior leadership.
Even with a full-time job, she never missed an event or performance. My dad traveled often—sometimes for months at a time—so the weight of raising two kids fell mostly on her. She rarely complained.
Later Years & Illness
In the late 1980s, as I finished college, she began experiencing symptoms—memory lapses, confusion, and physical issues. My sister recognized it first. It wasn’t until the early ’90s that we had a name: Alzheimer’s.
The disease slowly took everything from her—her job, her spark, her joy.
In the ’90s, I was consumed with a difficult marriage, raising four kids, and building my career. It is my greatest regret that I let the noise of life keep me from being there when she needed me most. She never complained—it wasn’t her way—but I know the pain was real.
Legacy
What she gave me—what I carry forward—is resilience.
She had every reason to quit. Every reason to fail. But she didn’t. She pushed forward, and taught us to do the same.
That’s the lesson I live by. That’s the legacy she left.
Her Birthday
Peggy Hill was born on December 19th. Growing up poor, her birthday was often lumped together with Christmas. As an adult, she fought for her birthday to be its own celebration.
So each year on that day, I remember her—with a prayer, a toast, or a kind word.
And if you’re reading this and feel moved to do the same, I promise you:
She would consider that the perfect birthday gift.
Love, Dad