Did you know that Mother’s Day is the third highest card-selling holiday behind Christmas and Valentine’s Day? Somehow that doesn’t seem right given if it weren’t for Mom none of us would be here.
But who am I to argue with statistics from a trade union named the Greeting Card Association, especially in such a perilous time for unions?
And if you are or ever have been a union member of any kind, please remember this November there are only two choices at the ballot box:
- DEMOCRACY
- DICTATORHSIP
Cast your votes accordingly.
Though living with my Mom was often a dictatorship, albeit a bottom line loving one, I’ll cast my vote for democracy every time.
You get to make those choices and more once you turn 18.
My mother Marion and my stepmom Shelly are no longer with us, though I randomly hear both of their voices in my head at least once a week. If not more.
And no, it’s not only because I’m the gay son.
It’s because each of them, and mothers in general, are our first measuring stick of the world. They teach us what’s right and what’s wrong and often times, when you’re much older, you realize they were correct a lot more than you thought.
Though not nearly as much as you wished they would have been when you were growing up.
I, for one, will never quite forgive my mother for forcing me into a Nehru suit and medallion necklace when I was 13 years old (Note: Though did she really have to twist my arm all that much?). Yet I have to give her credit for an enduring narcissism that has never allowed me to leave home looking that fashion victim-y again.
Yet at this time of year all I can think of is that in random moments I miss her terribly. Ditto Shelly, who was determined to love me from the very beginning. She even forgave the teenage me for drawing double entendre obscenities on the eggs in her refrigerator in the middle of the night just so the entire family would see them first thing in the morning.
I guess I needed a creative outlet and somehow I sense she knew that because it took only about a day for her to encourage me to keep at it. This was something she, and my mom Marion would do for the rest of my life.
It’s weird what you think of on Mother’s Day.
Especially when you have no need to buy the mandatory card.
PS – I just learned Paul McCartney actually wrote this song for his mother, whose name was Mary. All these years I thought it was a biblical reference! #themoreyouknow
notes from a chair 