I was raised in a family where my Mom worked at home with the kids and Dad worked at the office. Mom and Dad loved their respective roles. I suppose that’s why Mom took it especially hard when Dad let Mother’s Day slip by him one year.
It only happened once. But that was enough. I don’t recall the preacher’s sermon that morning, but either he chose to skip the Mother’s Day message, or Dad slept through it.
What I do remember was watching Mom in the kitchen when she finally realized there was going to be no Mother’s Day “surprise.” I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight at the time. At first, I thought she was slicing onions. Her face quenched up, a little at first, and then more and more, as she fought back the tears. Something was wrong. I could sense it. She didn’t boo-hoo; it was more of a whimper, like when my dog Hamlet got hit by a car and didn’t have the strength to whine. I was cautiously backing out of the kitchen when Dad walked in. If we had had a dog house, Dad’s name would have been on it that day.
In Dad’s defense, he was at that time of his life when his dental practice was growing. His first appointment was usually at 8 a.m., and he worked hard all day. Plus, he had three rambunctious boys at home. And Mom was not one to leave hints about what to get her for Mother’s Day. So, I can understand how he could have walked into the kitchen that day and not seen it coming. In an instant, Dad knew he was in deep trouble.
I can say this: Dad never missed another Mother’s Day. He went all out for everything having to do with Mom: birthdays, Christmas, and Valentine’s Day, which happened to be on her birthday.
How do I know Dad never forgot? He survived and lived a healthy life until he was 92.
So, here’s a fair warning to all: remember Mom this Sunday. Find a way to thank her for all her sacrifices.
I love the story about the second-grade teacher who asked a little boy in her class this question: “Suppose your mother baked a pie and there were seven of you—your parents and five children. What part of the pie would you get?”
“A sixth,” replied the boy.
“I’m afraid you don’t know your fractions,” said the teacher. “Remember, there are seven of you.”
“Yes, teacher,” said the boy, “but you don’t know my mother. Mother would say she didn’t want any pie.”
We had plenty of food in my house, including pie, but Mom sacrificed in a thousand other ways. She died several years ago, (March 17, 2019); Dad preceded her, (October 25, 2016), but I still think of things she did for me. She was involved in the big events, like the birthdays, award banquets, and graduations. But she was also there in the small stuff, like soothing my sniffles when I was hurt, or trying to talk me to sleep when I suffered from insomnia, or cheering me on in football, wrestling, or track, and supporting me when I failed, or congratulating me when I succeeded.
Mom did it all.
Milton Berle once asked, “If evolution really works, how come mothers only have two hands?
Good question. One thing is for sure: moms haven’t evolved beyond the point of needing affirmation and recognition.
Just ask the dad, or the child, who forgets Mother’s Day.