When I was a kid, my mom was president of our local Little League. It meant we were at the Washies Playground in Danville a lot.
I can’t remember how she stumbled into the job. She liked, and still does, to stay busy. She also liked what the kids liked, as moms are wont to do.
It couldn’t have been easy being the mother of my brother and me. Probably easier with me than him, but we turned out OK, so job well done.
How many moms received a call from the principal’s office the same day one of her sons (me) received the school’s citizenship award?
Or how many moms heard a son (my brother) say he broke an ankle because it got severely tangled up in bedsheets and not because he jumped off a roof?
Or how many moms found out one son (him) rode in the trunk of the car while the other (me) drove a car full of girls into town?
But unless I think real hard I can’t ever remember my mom yelling at us. Not even in those instances above.
Instead, my brother and I got a crushing look that we knew meant disappointment, followed by a gentle, “are you kidding me?” or “seriously.” It is part of her melt-you-into-a-puddle sense of humor.
I’m guessing a lot of moms are like that. The ones I know, including my own wife, are. Forgiving and friendly when needed. Stern and forceful when required. But always there. Always present. Always mom.
My mom is retiring in a few weeks, about to roll into full-time grandmother mode — not that she hasn’t embraced the role for the past 13 years. And pool bunny — if she can ever get the frogs out of her pool — you’ll probably find her there most days this summer.
It’s more than a well-deserved break.
In addition to being a terrific mother, my mom’s been a non-traditional college student, a soccer/baseball/football/basketball/wrestling mom, a forgiving wife to a self-proclaimed big-kid-at-heart husband, a caring grandmother, a rock of an older sister and, most impressively, a fighter.
Like millions of mothers and daughters and sisters, cancer didn’t stop her, never even slowed her down. Not even the time when doctors said on Halloween she probably wouldn’t see Christmas. That was five Christmases ago.
Moms are rockstars, but they don’t act like it. They don’t need to. They make an impossible gig look easy; they handle everything with a grace us fathers wish we had an ounce of.
Today is a day set aside to honor our mothers, but we should do it each and every day because not everyone gets that chance.
I’ll be on the road today, doing the dad thing by driving a kid halfway across the state for soccer. So I probably won’t see her. But I’ll call her and tell her I love her, because she deserves it and so much more.
Happy Mother’s Day to all moms out there.
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