My Sunday Thought for 05082016: Mother's Day

I am what I am due to her ministrations.

The rock that is always there,

The compass to find my way,

Whether I need it, or not.

My constant admirer,

as she is my constant critic.

She tasks me to be all

And wishes me only happiness.

This woman that I love

And worry almost daily.

I still come when she calls,

and I still call her "mom."

So, who's the ugly mug my mom is with? Yeah, you guessed it - me. What in God's good name happened? Really! I mean, yeah, if you ignore the fact I had to sit in a high chair to gnaw on a 'nanner, I was actually a handsome guy, back in the day. I was such a good looking little kid. Okay, I was a bit high active and I think I had undiagnosed ADD, but that's why I didn't learn a lot about a little... rather, I learned a little about much.

As I grew up, I humbly have to admit I was still a heartthrob, if I took off the black birth control glasses with the coke bottle bottom lenses, but then I was nearsighted as Mr. Magoo. Even so, mom made sure to dress me in keeping with the day's fashion, while dad taught me the virtues of a classic, natural fiber suits, the three button blue blazer, and how to tie a Windsor knot in my tie. There was no substitute or excuse, for not looking clean, neat, and affluent, whether you were affluent or not.  A hole in your jeans was a secret to be kept lest you end up with knee patches, or breaking in another uncomfortably stiff pair of denim Levis ("stone washed" was still a ways off).

She taught me, more than the church, about religion, faith, and how to have a personal, spiritual, relationship with God. She basically stressed that she had taught me right from wrong, so there was no reason for me to be stupid. Okay, almost no reason. Okay, so I failed that tidbit on occasion, but I always picked myself up and kept going which was another lesson she taught and I learned well.  She was a constant reminder to brush my teeth, wash behind my ears, and wash my hands before eating.  She did all this, most of the time, while holding down a job to help with the bills groceries, and to keep us debt free (a lesson everyone should learn).

Mom was a stickler about us having three square meals a day with all the daily recommended courses. She would always let me help in the kitchen, or at least stand on a chair so I could watch, and I actually paid pretty close attention to her cooking. I would even sit with her and watch cooking shows on television.  Graham Kerr, and Julia Child of my youth would be replaced with so many more TV kitchens and chefs throughout the coming years, though none of them could fondle a raw chicken like Julia Child.  

It wouldn't be till my twenties that I finally realized I actually liked broccoli, cottage cheese, yogurt, lamb, and even fish that weren't pieces of fish reformed into sticks, breaded, and oven ready. The fact that mom let me help out in the kitchen served me well when I moved out on my own. I was a better cook than most women I met, and found it was actually a draw for dating and relationships.  Want to meet women?  Cruise the vegetable section or the meat counter of your local supermarket.  The store is rife with women looking for a man that cooks.  It is a sad reflection of how little moms now teach their daughters.  I guess it accounts for the current glut of male chefs on TV.

Mom was the reason I can sew, cook, do laundry, iron, and keep a clean house. She tried her best, against insurmountable odds, to keep me alive, and ensured I grew up right. I did a lot of things that would make one think I had a death wish, but the things mom said always stuck in my mind and kept me from going too far.   

Yep, thanks to her I made it to 62.  I'm living in sin with my significant other, fighting against thinning hair, male pattern baldness, and a spare tire (none of this latter was mom's fault). Thanks to her I also still have all my own teeth, save for a couple of caps which are probably a result of my penchant for chewing ice (I've been told chewing ice is a sign of sexual frustration... yeah, right, so much for psychobabble bullshit).  I am still here to proudly proclaim life and health at 62, which is all more than I can say for many of my childhood friends.

In large part to her, aside from being alive and healthy, I am also happy and content.    I'm secure enough with who I am to wear a dress and a black fedora, with a flower attached, during the New Orleans Red Dress Run, and do it with a beard while smoking a stogie with good friends.  I don't sweat the small stuff and rarely give the large stuff much notice. I have made many mistakes in my life but, thanks to mom, I have survived all of them with a modicum of grace and the fortitude to continue moving forward on my path. 

Here's to all the mothers, like my daughter, that actually take time to "mother" their children and be a real parent, which is more than just a title. It is a concept that is, sadly, disappearing in our society as lazy parents become increasingly reliant on government to "parent" in their stead.

So, here's to you mom!  I love you dearly for all you've been, all you've done, and all you will do in my life.

In the course of our busy day, if we happen upon a mother being a mother, be sure and mention to them how nice it is to see a parent actually taking the responsibility seriously - and thank them!  It is becoming a lost art in this day and age.  Perhaps we should make every day Mother's Day, so we can show our appreciation for all they do, on a daily basis, to enrich our lives.