Not Just Sunday, but Every Day.
I love you, Mom.
These are simple words that aren't said often enough. We take our mothers for granted. (Well, most of us do --- and fathers, too, but today's about Mom.) We forget when she was there when we were absolutely sure we were going to bleed out and die over a paper cut or a skinned knee. We didn't know she followed us when we walked to school those first days to make sure we made it okay. She hears things about us from her friends and acquaintances but passes no judgment. She nursed us when we were sick; loaned us money when we were broke; encouraged us to dream when we were uncertain; fed us when we were hungry.
Your mom is different than my mom, but Mom is universal. Every Mom knows how important each child is, whether she acknowledges it or not. Not every mom is June Cleaver, either. No matter how much we might wish for that paragon of motherhood, on some level we know that's unattainable.
My mom did all of the things I mentioned above, and so much more. She let me make my own mistakes (though she offered advice when she thought she should) and gave me the room I needed to grow. She taught me to cook, expanded my tastes in food and art and music. She formed me into the person I am today, enabling me to be a good husband and father.
This year I finally read her favorite book (Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine) and I see why it's such a great novel. I think, now, that she tried to give me that kind of childhood. For my money, she was more than successful and I'm grateful beyond words.
Someday I'll be able to write a story that at least echoes what Bradbury wrote. Though I doubt it will ever approach that level of finery, I'll have the chance. That's what Mom gave me. That's what I value. Inherent in everything I've written here is my gratitude, my thanks to Mom for everything. She's coming over for lunch this afternoon so I'll get to say it to her directly, but here --- in front of everybody, I say:
I love you, Mom.
Happy Mother's Day.
These are simple words that aren't said often enough. We take our mothers for granted. (Well, most of us do --- and fathers, too, but today's about Mom.) We forget when she was there when we were absolutely sure we were going to bleed out and die over a paper cut or a skinned knee. We didn't know she followed us when we walked to school those first days to make sure we made it okay. She hears things about us from her friends and acquaintances but passes no judgment. She nursed us when we were sick; loaned us money when we were broke; encouraged us to dream when we were uncertain; fed us when we were hungry.
Your mom is different than my mom, but Mom is universal. Every Mom knows how important each child is, whether she acknowledges it or not. Not every mom is June Cleaver, either. No matter how much we might wish for that paragon of motherhood, on some level we know that's unattainable.
My mom did all of the things I mentioned above, and so much more. She let me make my own mistakes (though she offered advice when she thought she should) and gave me the room I needed to grow. She taught me to cook, expanded my tastes in food and art and music. She formed me into the person I am today, enabling me to be a good husband and father.
This year I finally read her favorite book (Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine) and I see why it's such a great novel. I think, now, that she tried to give me that kind of childhood. For my money, she was more than successful and I'm grateful beyond words.
Someday I'll be able to write a story that at least echoes what Bradbury wrote. Though I doubt it will ever approach that level of finery, I'll have the chance. That's what Mom gave me. That's what I value. Inherent in everything I've written here is my gratitude, my thanks to Mom for everything. She's coming over for lunch this afternoon so I'll get to say it to her directly, but here --- in front of everybody, I say:
I love you, Mom.
Happy Mother's Day.