Mother's Day

I may have bitten off a tad more than I can swallow, let alone chew, here. There's just no way to encapsulate thirty-six years of Mom into one blog entry. I could write forever and only get the words on top. (And there's the not-so-small matter of a couple of stepmothers and a mother-in-law to complicate things further...yeesh, I should just give up now.)

We've had our ups and downs, my Mom and I. Looking back, I'd have to say most of the downs came from our being so much alike. Of course, at the time, that was a heresy: no kid, and especially no teenager, wants to hear just how much like his mother he is, especially especially if he knows deep down that it's true.

For a while, when I was a kid, it was Mommy and I against a hostile world. I was thrust into the role of Man Of The House at all of six years old. It was a role I eagerly accepted, putting childhood aside as best I could. Foolish of me. Not only did I (willingly) deprive myself of a childhood in many respects, I considered myself a mature young man for about oh, a quarter century before I actually began to resemble one. Of course, that consideration carried the same ironclad weight as the one that said I was nothing like my mother. Deeply felt...and just as deeply wrong.

Looking back at my younger self these days, I can't help but react with horror and some species of revolted fascination. I was a piece of work, let me tell you. Chronic liar, insufferably poor loser, fiercely interested in books and violently disinterested in just about everything else, I must have been a chore to raise. Mom didn't do it alone for too long: once I was eight, my stepdad burst onto the scene...and my father played an important role too, even if I only saw him but rarely. All that said, for a couple of crucial formative years it was just Mom and I...and even after John came along, my mother continued to shape me. It took a lot of shaping...and unfortunately, I reacted to being shaped in exactly the same way I reacted to being told I was like my mom, or that I was immature. I rebelled. Not the way many teenagers do--I don't think I've done anything the way many teenagers do--but I rebelled nonetheless. The seeds of my rebellion bore fruit right around the time I got married, culminating in an estrangement that lasted several years (read: "until I grew up a little.")

The reset button on the relationship has been firmly pressed, which is a good thing. A very good thing. The kid who thought he was an adult needed his Mom around: I've discovered the adult does, too.

My mother is a very strong woman. She's had to be. She's also extremely intelligent, compassionate, and unrelentingly positive...all traits I hope like hell I've inherited in some small degree. All her life she's wanted a horse, and now instead one one big one she's got a whole stable of little ones. Check it out:

Pretty Penny Miniature Ranch

Champions, no less. But with my mom and John involved, I can't say I'm surprised.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. Sorry I can't be there today to share it with you. Remember I love you.