On this second Sunday in May, I want to take a moment to give a shout out to those young ladies (of all ages) who have brought life into the world. One in particular brought this poor old grizzled hippie into the light 50 years ago.
I wasn't the only one. No, I was only the second of eight children bore by a housewife from South Dakota who married a logger from Eastern Washington.
Talk about love, they've been together for 54 years These fine folks, right now, are sitting at the kitchen table, having a cup of coffee, reading the paper and telling the grandkids to shut the hell up.
Mothers Day is the day we set aside to honor our maternal parent, the lady who wiped our nose and our ass when we leaked, swatted that ass when we screwed up and praised us when we made her proud. Like when we got three book awards to Angie Johnson's two in second grade. (In your face, Mrs. Johnson! Whoop-Whoop!)
My mom looked the other way on many an occasion when she could have taken me out like a bag of trash. Like the time I experimented on the electrical properties of a dinner fork. After replacing the fuse and putting out the little fire on her brand new bedspread, she simply said:
"Well, you won't do that again, will you?" At least I wasn't holding the damn fork when I plugged it in.
Growing up, I saw the power of compromise. I learned what sharing REALLY means. If you buy candy, you better eat it all before you get home or you have to give some to everybody! With seven brothers and sisters, my mom taught us how to get along with all kinds of people. Even those who would take your favorite yellow Foghat t-shirt to a slumber party and get a god damn, big ass grease stain on it. Fucker!
In 1977, I wrote out an essay about a day in the life of my mother. It was about the daily care and feeding of three youngsters and four teenagers. My English teacher submitted the essay to a contest and my mom was selected Mother of the Year by my town's Chamber of Commerce. I would show you a picture but it was 1977 and I'm wearing a gawd awful leisure suit type thing so that photo will never see the light of day.
To my mother's credit, my siblings and I get along really well. We have our fights and arguments, but in the end we hold no grudges. We talk to each other on a regular basis, exchange gossip and take great pains to interfere in each other's lives. My in-laws (spouses of siblings) have said that our family is a tough club to crack into. We do stick our noses where they don't belong, that's true but we stick together in times of trouble. Some of my sisters' ex-boyfriends can attest to that. Imagine facing down three older brothers AND a dad who knocks down trees for a living. It's a wonder any of them are married at all.
Mothers have great powers. They have the power of time travel and can re-awaken a person's youth. Even at 50 years old, I still revert back to 12 when talking to Mom. She can sent me back in time to 1971 in a single sentence. "David, I'm disappointed in you!" I can only respond "But Mom!"
Such is the power of motherhood.
Happy Mother's Day to all the young ladies (of all ages) who have gifted us with life and love. We are in awe of your grace and your patience. And if one of your children causes a minor power outage by cross-circuiting the toaster, be gentle.
So Mote It Be,
David A.
