Happy Mudder's Day
What can I say? What is new about mothers? It’s all been said. It’s in the Mother’s Day Cards.
Mother's Day Card
Most mothers are wonderful. Most care most about their children. Not all. I watch Criminal Minds; I know there are evil people out there.
Criminal Minds
I could tell you that I had a wonderful mother. I did.
She was exceptional, not just as a mother, but as a human being. I could tell you I am a wonderful mother. I would be lying. I do try but I have not lived up to the gold
standard. I might score "adequate" on the Provincial Rubric. I am not going to enumerate my
successes or my failures here. My
daughters could probably fill you in.
Mothers
are so vital in the construction of human beings, beyond the biological
creation. I am just realizing, in my
late 50s, that I put a lot of stock in mothers.
I jump to the conclusion that if the mother is a good person, her children are likely to be good people too, and vice versa.
You might call that judgemental. Go ahead.
Just imagine the mothers of these people.
Nelson Mandela, Mother Theresa, Barack Obama
And consider this mother, author Isabel Allende, who nursed her 28-year-old daughter to a premature death, then wrote a book about it. Mothers do phenomenal things.
Isabel Allende with son Nicholas and daughter Paula
Paula, by Isabel Allende
Around Mother’s Day last year, I met a man whom I have come
to admire in many ways. A very
successful businessman, he is a Newfoundlander by birth. You might call that racial profiling. Go ahead.
This man and I were randomly thrown into a social situation
that involved a bottle of rum. Lest you
think me an avid drinker, let me assure you I am not. You might call that denial. Go ahead.
Appleton Rum
As the rum in the bottle diminished, this man's Newfoundland accent
strengthened remarkably. My Newfoundland
accent strengthened minimally. His stories
were most entertaining, his speech patterns downright musical. Eventually the word Mother became Mudder, and
Mudder figured highly in the ensuing stories.
There was the story of childhood mealtime in the family of 5, mostly
boys. Mudder never saw the older brother
stealing off the plate of the younger brother and only turned around in time to
see the victim of supper-theft stab the thief-brother in the back of his hand
with the fork. But of course Mudder
figured it out and cuffed one boy and bandaged the other.
Hungry Brudder
Then there was the story about two of the brothers
who were stationed in Afghanistan. One
brother was not sharing his access to extra rations with the other brother. A phone call was made from Afghanistan to
Mudder in Newfoundland and that bit of sibling inequity was soon straightened
out. I call that one powerful mother.
Brudder Calling Mudder
I could go on about mothers… Mother Theresa, Mother Earth, Mother
May I, Mother Superior, Motherboards, Whistler’s Mother, MotherLode, Mommie
Dearest, Mother Jones. Some of those mothers
are not mothers in the literal sense of the word, but they can still be mothering. Think of all the people who have mothered
you. I’ll leave you with Jann Arden’s
Good Mother
Jann Arden
......Until Next Time....
