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And mama, when I was a child, I lost hours in her smile. Baking cookies in the kitchen, spillin’ paint on her tile. She’d read me bible stories and sleep with me awhile. And I first saw God in her eyes. – Colorado Time
Me and Mom on a Las Vegas trip. 2013.
I went to an all boys high school, as most who’ve read this blog know. All boys high schools are wonderful places, many of which (including the one I attended) pride themselves on the sense of brotherhood they create in their graduates – the idea that the bonds formed between young men are special, strong and formed for a lifetime. At their best, all boys schools do generate this type of loyalty and they help boys understand – on at least a basic level – what it means to be a man. But, sometimes because of the very nature of their structure and the make- up, they have a harder time teaching young men about women.
Upon matriculating from all boys high schools, some graduates struggle with the reality that the young woman sitting next to them in college classes is just as smart (smarter?), just as confident (braver?) and just a capable (you get the idea) than they are.
I didn’t have that issue when I hit college. Why? In large part because of my mother.
Me and Mom in my dorm room. 1991.
My mother is a very smart, very passionate person. As my sisters (both wonderful mothers in their own rights, by-the-way) and I were growing up, we were very blessed to have a mother like her. She loved us and we knew it. She asked for us to be our best and we tried to be for her – no one wanted to disappoint Mom. She was full of laughter and teased us (me most of all as I remember it) with joyful exuberance. During our childhoods, she embraced us in comfort, gave us our character as people, made us us who we are today.
And my mom has has never been reticent to share her opinions, which is the most important reason that I always understood the power of women and never doubted the inherent equality between women and men. What a blessing to have been taught that crucial lesson at such a young age.
She remains ready to opine, and I often seek out what she thinks about what is going on in my life – about career choices, about parenting my own children, about the big questions we all confront and we want to ask our moms. Sometimes, when I realize that I haven’t asked her opinion, I think I know why I haven’t – it’s because I know what she will say and it’s usually what I don’t want to and very much need to hear.
My mom is the matriarch of our family. She is the center of it. She is the person who first showed me good and God in our world.
She is my mom. I am highly blessed.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.