(Editor's Note: The following Mother's Day memoir was written by Dennis Visco, formerly of Hicksville, in memory of his mother Sadie Visco [July 14, 1929 - Dec. 21, 1997]. It first ran in the May 18, 2001 edition of the Hicksville Illustrated News and is being reprinted here at Dennis' request.)

I can remember growing up in Hicksville and that it was always a special day when Mother's Day rolled around. I didn't realize it as much then, but it now seems odd that my mom always insisted on cooking a big meal. Other mothers would be taken to a restaurant but somehow my mother thought it did not have to be a vacation for mothers. Instead she chose to cook for everyone as usual - simply because that's what mothers did. At least that's how I remember it anyway.

As the years passed, no matter where her children were residing we always made the trip to Hicksville to celebrate this day and, as always, my mom would insist on cooking. It seemed strange to me that it almost never rained.

As I became an adult I realized that my mother was one of those that would not have enjoyed her life if for some reason she did not have her family to care for. I truly believe that she lived for her three children and for my father. At one point during our childhood years my mother expressed her feelings of the joy of motherhood in a poem entitled My Three Loves. Although my mom is no longer with us, Mother's Day still reminds me of my annual trip to Hicksville for a celebration dinner. I may not drive to Hicksville on Mother's Day anymore but I always think about it.

– Dennis Visco

As a young mother raising her family in Hicksville, Sadie Visco wrote the following poem about her three children:

Although I may sound fickle,

I'm really in a pickle.

To pick one love out of three

Is impossible for me

My first love is a girl of twelve

Shy when not supposed to be and barely ever listens to me.

But that's the age she's going through -

Sometimes gay, sometimes blue and always wanting something new!

My second love s quite a gent

And takes serious every word that's meant.

Although he's six years old,

He's far from bold

He mumbles his words when he's wrong

And tells stories that take oh! so long.

He's sensitive as can be.

Poor child took after me!

My third love is my little man.

Not quite five, but can surely connive.

He's tiny as can be,

But growing up too fast for me.

For if you'll look back to see,

He's the youngest of the three.

When Fall begins, my heart will pound.

When I hear that school bus sound,

I'll be sad, I know

For my three loves have grown.

I'll remember the joys I've known.

And refuse to dread,

Their return home to me and the

Evening ahead.

So you see how hard it is for me,

To pick one love out of three.

I can only proudly sigh,

Three Loves Have I!

Sadie Visco