Mothers Honored

The only time that I really remember wishing I were a boy, was when I was watching my brother and his friends play little league baseball during summer evenings when I was a young girl. The field was surrounded by woods, yet when I had to pee, instead of having the simplicity of nature that boys had, I had to trek to the nearest lavatories. Later, as an adult, when asked on an MMPI that I took for fun when I was a psych nurse, I answered the question asking if I had ever wished I were male with a "yes" and that put a red flag as to gender identity issues. Dumb test. Who wouldn't rather pee on a tree than over some disgusting filled up smelly latrine!

Had I been a male, I would have missed the single most amazing and breathtaking experience of my life - giving birth. Having wanted a child, and then experiencing three years of infertility accompanied by the most humiliating, uncomfortable and anxiety producing medical procedures and tests and laparoscopies and such, caused a heightened joy when I finally conceived. I remember learning I was pregnant, and calling my mother and father who were out of town on a trip. My mother's first response was to yell "praise the Lord." That evening, we went out to celebrate and I remember suddenly feeling panicky and terrified. I was not sure whether if was fear of loss or fear of hurling along on a journey that I could not stop. The fear didn't last. Pregnancy is indescribable. I wish it were not so hard to recall how it physically feels. Lying on the couch reading a book and seeing a little foot or elbow roll across your protruding belly is so amazing. Feeling a life growing inside, and moving, is a sensation unlike any other. I was struck by the baseness of it all. Procreation seems like a blip in evolution. We are not so far from our animal friends. They give birth, nurse and nurture much as humans. It makes me think how little we know about the universe and how we are just step on a hierarchy that we cannot fathom.

My relationship with my mother was complicated. Part of that, after years of reflection, was based on my rebelliousness and placement in the family (second child). After all, my oldest sister once told me that she was the oldest, Mary Beth was the youngest, Tom was the only boy - so I was nothing! Obviously that left me needing to make some noise to be noticed.

But, when I contemplate the job that my mother did, I realize that I was blessed with being born into a family with a mother who taught me the fundamentals to allow me to be a rational, and hopefully, a basically good mother myself. I was taught right and wrong. I was taught to be self sufficient. I was taught to be nurturing. I was taught to be responsible. So, even if my mother did not lavish constant praise and acceptance which I would have languished in (and probably have grown up petulant and narcissistic), perhaps she did provide the constancy, reliability and dependability I needed. She was there when we needed. When we walked home from school at lunchtime, she was there with a hot lunch. She attended the school functions. She was at every activity we were engaged in. She sewed clothes for us. She cooked, cleaned and provided a comfortable home to grow up in. She didn't have a car and the freedom to run that we have now. She was a 50's mom, just like Harriet Nelson and until her youngest was in school, she was at home with us and available. And, she could be fun. She would pack up a picnic at the drop of a hat and off to the park we would go. She would make us laugh. I remember her heavy with a pregnant belly with my younger sister and singing and dancing a song called "I'm a Red Hot Mama." And, she was Red Hot. She had red hair. Fantastic, auburn hair. And a twin, with red hair. And, they were a formidable duo. So, not only did I have a mom, I had an aunt who was a back up.

One of my favorite memories of my mother is so simple. Going "downtown" in Youngstown, Ohio, was wonderful as a child because it meant having my mother all to myself. I remember being dressed up, and holding my mother's hand as we navigated the streets of downtown which seemed so large and exciting. We would always have a chocolate malt in the basement of McKelvey's department store. Oh, that was a treat, served in small glasses and eaten with a little spoon. The excursion was special, because I could be alone with my mother and have all of her attention.

I remember the annual "Mother's Day" luncheons at our church. The event was special, even though, in retrospect, it was held in the church's sterile recreation hall, but dressing up and having decorations, entertainment, little favors and a luncheon and punch was special. Mother's Day meant making up cards with sentiments that matched the letter's in the title. I wonder what I wrote? M - mother, O - omnipotent, T - tender, H - heroine, E - energetic, R - red head??? Who knows. And how many of us planted some seeds in a Dixie cup at school and took home a straggly marigold? My youngest, Sam, gave me one that grew into a 3 foot flower that I treasured.

I could go on and on with memories. But the essence is simple. That being a mother is special. And having a mother is special. There is a bond and understanding that is shared by all mothers. Tomorrow I will journey north to Ft. Lauderdale to meet with one of my dearest friends, her daughter and her daughter's friend and mother for a Mother's Day luncheon somewhere on the beach. We will be basking in the glow of that bond. And I wish all of the women I know who share this bond with me, the best and most joyous Mother's Day.