On this Wordsday in my Towel World, I'm still ruminating on mothers. On Monday, I offered up some of my mother's unusual road rules, and yesterday I whined just a little about the ridiculousness of the term "working mom" and how hard mothers, and grandmothers, work and why they may have need for occasional caffeine support. Today I'm thinking about MOTHERS, and how very often a mother isn't a mother at all, that is, if mother is defined as a female human who grows and then ejects a tinier version of themselves into the world.
Sometimes, dads are moms. Sometimes, grandmas are moms. Sometimes, as in my case, big sisters are the best moms ever. You can read all about it here: Big Sisters.
Sometimes, aunties are moms. Sometimes, teachers are moms. Sometimes, neighbors are moms. I guess I'm thinking of MOTHER as a VERB. Anyone who mothers is a mother. Sometimes, other people's mothers mother us. I was lucky enough to have one of those.
She was the mother of my childhood friend who lived down the road from us. When you grow up in the country, your closest friend isn't just next door. You have to go a mile or two past the north forty (acres) before you get to the next farm. And that's where they lived.
She had a very big family of her own to care for. I would sit quietly in amazement at the magnitude of life going on all at once in their house. Every child was busy and every teenager was involved in a dozen things and helping on the farm and practicing some form of music. Because I was the only child at home, going to their home was a distinct contrast for me.
My friend's mother could have very nicely placed me to the side. She had plenty on her plate. But she didn't. She taught a bunch of us girls to twirl the baton and entered us to march in the Independence Day parade. She said yes, almost every day, when my friend asked her if I could come play at their house, or if she could come play at mine. When she purchased season tickets for the community concert series, she arranged with my parents for me to have a ticket, too, and then she picked me up and drove me, along with all her other children, to each and every event. That went on for many seasons of concerts. I owe much of my cultural awareness and concert etiquette to her. She told me to wash dishes after dinner, just like her other kids. She would hand me a younger child and tell me to read them a story. When I played the piano at their house, she would encourage me to "count." She included me. She mothered me. And I will always be grateful for her example. Always.
The point is, most of you mother, and for those who do, thank you, because even if you don't realize it, you're changing the world for the better, one child at a time.
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