I wanted to say something on this day for my mother, and her mother, and my father's mother, and everyone else's mother. Oh, and, of course, to future mothers.
Mother's Day can be claimed to be another holiday to make money with cards, candies and curios. I can certainly see the point. But I think it forgets something: there was a time, not so long ago, when giving birth to a child was a life-threatening attempt. That's still true in too many countries throughout this world. We should appreciate our mothers because, by dint only of location of birth, they were able to be safer when they birthed us. Basically, we should recognize our mothers as an appreciation for all mothers everywhere, especially those who give their lives for the lives of their children, whether in childbirth or in defense of their child's life.
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Now, I'd like to say something for my mothers (Mom, Nana, Grandma Chin, Lala, Grandma D, Pat, Aunt Roe, etc.) Obviously, some of these people are more my mother than others. But each of them has the same look in their eye when they talk or talked with me: a combination of love and pride with a tinge of fear that they might be screwing up. Everything here will not have pictures. I know that I like to put up my pictures of my subjects, but I don't have anyone's permission, and I feel like that's kind of a crappy thing to do for people I love.
My true grandmothers are Nana and Grandma Chin. My Nana is on my mother's side, and, oddly, lives in Atlanta. My mother's not from there, I'm not from there, no one in my family is, and yet, she's set up camp there now. *Shrugs* Anyway, I love her since she's the grandmother who's, historically, always pampered me. She's a beautiful woman full of life and vigor. Granted, she takes more naps now than ever, but she's still up for traveling and loves to hear about new music and new literature (she just doesn't like it all).
Grandma Chin is, logically, on the other side of the family. She passed when I was young, but I do remember one thing about her. She had a cane, but I can't remember why she did. She used to sit in this chair in the dining room of her house; she would eat something there and hang her cane on the bottom of the stair case railing. I, as a rambunctious child, would run around the house, which wasn't hard since it was basically a square. I would run from the living room to the darkly lit wooden porch, pass the orange wall-papered bathroom through to the lime green kitchen and hit the dining room and then the front door, which would light up the bottom of the staircase. Once, as I was running, and apparently far more cunning than I can ever recall being, I grabbed her cane and ran with it for a lap. Grandma laughed since she was sitting at the table eating; I guess she figured she didn't need it and I could play with it. What she didn't realize, as I said, was that I was plotting something. As I ran again, I grabbed her sandwich. She was angry, naturally, and went for her cane. Realizing that, in one hand, I had her sandwich, and, in the other, her cane, she sat back down and chuckled to herself. (She probably thought I was going to become a thief when I grew up. Or worse, a master strategist for the army!)
I was the first child of my mother and father, so they often, quite correctly, refer to me as the guinea pig child. My mother had to guess with me; whether it was with the best doctor in the city, which diaper brand was the sturdiest or how to go about the college application process, I was the one who paved the way for my sister. This isn't meant to sound bitter or angry toward my sister or anyone else; I hope I didn't convey that. I only wish to convey my profound thankfulness towards her for dealing with all of it with love, (mostly) honesty, curiosity and a hug waiting for me at the end of the day.
I wish I had more time to sum up every other mother in my life. Heck, I'd love to have more time to sum up every woman in my life. But I can't at the moment since it's almost 2 am. (This is where Mel laughs and says, "I've chatted with you much later than that." To which I say, shut up, you in-the-future-living, koala-petting, McDonald's-loving creep.)
Oh, and Harim, I promise. After the tour, your post is next. You know which one I'm talking about, right?
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