Mother's Day

A mother is a person who, seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, 

promptly announces she never did care for pie.  ~Tenneva Jordan

The older I get, the more of the world that I see, and the more people I meet, the more I understand that probably the most extraordinary person I have ever known is the first person I ever met: my mom.   I was talking to a friend last night about my mother, and I told him that I have never met a more loving, patient or supportive person in my life.  That if I ever met a person who honestly didn’t like her, I’d probably die from the shock of it.  That my greatest hope is that I have been able to learn enough from watching her to be even a fraction of the mother  she is when my time comes to have children of my own. 

So, on the eve of Mother’s Day in America, here are just a few of the millions of reasons I love mine:

• OK, I’ve got to say the obvious first: she gave me life.  She made me, carried me around in her body for 40 weeks, and then underwent surgery to bring me into the world.  It’s so commonplace, people having children, that I think we sometimes forget how remarkable an act it really is.
• She always encouraged me and my brothers to choose our own paths in life, and always supported whatever we chose without reservation.  I know that most parents try to do that, but so few truly succeed at it.  They’re only human, after all.  It must be maddening to be worried about your children’s’ futures but to bite your tongue when you see them making decisions that you think may be mistakes.  My mother always seemed to understand implicitly that no mind was ever changed by nagging.  She could guide, she could set an example, but she could not choose for us.  She could only offer her support as we went about tying and untying our own knots in life.  One perfect example: despite the fears I’m sure she must have about my summer plans to live in the Guatemalan jungle at an orphanage, the only things she has ever said to me about it are “I am so proud of you,” and “How can we help?” 
• She did, however, impress us with the great importance of really trying.  Quitting was frowned upon in my family.  That’s not to say it never happened, but usually not without a fair amount of discussion and thought given to whether we were quitting because something wasn’t right, or simply because it was challenging.
• She read to me.  All the time.  And when I learned how, she sat patiently and let me read to her.
• She made hard decisions and stuck to them.  Even when we told her we’d hate her for it (oh, adolescence!).  In the time I’ve spent working with kids in my life, I’ve learned only one thing: discipline is the hardest part.  When you see their sad little faces you just want to hug them, tell them it’s ok, and back down.  But if you do that, you hurt them more than you help them.  My mother made the decision to help us be better people, even if it hurt sometimes.  That said, she rarely yelled at us and never made us feel stupid or small.  I’m sure that sometimes we must have annoyed the hell out of her.  But I don’t remember her ever making me feel it.
• She’s smart and funny and, now that I’m old enough to let her be, a great friend.

Having fun in Zakopane

Like I said, that’s only a few reasons.  And of course, I wouldn’t be the person I am now without my Dad either.  His was a different set of skills and sacrifices.  But that’s a whole different holiday.