Let’s be clear about one thing: I have no problem with my mother, only with Mother’s Day.
I love my mother dearly. In fact, I love her with a searing, consuming love that demands of me the witness of my entire life. I carry around with me a desire to make her proud, to repay her miraculous love by existing well.
Also, I rather enjoy holidays. The liturgical calendar is one of my major interests. When St Margaret’s Day rolls around I can celebrate with the best of them (I celebrate both Margaret of Scotland and Margaret Mary, in case you are keeping track). But like many people these “Hallmark Holidays” aggravate me. I don’t have much use for Valentine’s Day, or Mother’s Day, or Father’s Day.
(I love my father too. I love him in a way that can’t be summed up with a gift-wrapped grill accessory advertised with some sketch designed to imply that all men are morons.)
I resist anything that tries to fit us into boxes, and these manufactured holidays do exactly that. You’re only doing Mother’s Day “right” if your mother (or daughter) is alive, if you both get along, if you have discretionary income, if you are a woman who plans to be a mother or who wants to be a mother or who is happy to be defined for a few hours by your capacity to gestate.
The best holidays invite us into mystery. Religious holidays – and many patriotic ones – remind us that we are part of something beyond ourselves. Rather than demanding a certain affect or lifestyle they meet us where we are and gently reorient us toward a larger truth.
I’m sure I will call my mother on Mother’s Day. It is a Sunday after all, and I enjoy our Sunday conversations if only because she recaps where everyone sat at church the night before. I will wish her a Happy Mother’s Day, and mean it, because I want her to be happy. I will remind myself that I am fortunate to have her every day, not just once a year, and to be able to show my love in ways that don’t fit a mold or cost a penny.
What’s your take on Mother’s Day?
I completely agree with you about the celebration and expectation that surrounds Mother’s Day. But I will tell you, as a mother of three, motherhood does, “…remind [me] that [I] am part of something beyond [myself]”. Daily am reminded of the mystery of life and daily I am challenged to set my self aside for a greater good.
Thank you for your faithfulness and calling all of your readers to grater accountability. Peace to you
Thank you for your thoughtful comment! I thought about that when I was writing, and figured that it was probably the case that motherhood had that affect as well.
Like many days of observation, the pith is fine if it’s not ruined by materialistic accretions or guilt.
My mom’s dead, but I get my wife a card and flowers because she’s been a wonderful mother to our kids. It’s perfunctory in the sense that I do it on the assigned Sunday, but she hears how much I think of her the other 364 days of the year as well.
It’s not Father’s Day yet but I got a coupla funnies for ya. Once my sisters and I got to be teenagers, in response to our obligatory cards, my father would say , “These are great….but all I really want for Father’s day is….” and we’d yell, “a little appreciation!”
And with my kids, I always tell them, “Hey, y’all don’t need to get me anything for Father’s day. I already know just how much each you loves me.” And then they groan.