“Mothers are fonder than fathers of their children because they are more certain they are their own.” – Aristotle
Gotta love that Aristotelian wit.
Though, doubtless, there have been many moments when my mother has scratched her head and wondered that very thing.
Last week I wrote about being different. Well, there’s no way I’d have survived being different if not for my mother, not to mention the fact that she’s been one of the people encouraging me to be different my entire life.
I never told my parents (or anyone at all) about the things I endured during Middle School. But hey, that’s the beauty of being a writer. I get the chance to do that every day now with the hope of making similar odysseys a bit easier for misfits today who might find themselves on the periphery, belonging to some degree perhaps in every group, but not quite truly belonging to any.
This post is a rather informal ode to my mom.
She has an expansive heart. She’s extremely loving, caring, conscientious, empathetic person. Someone who tends to put others first. Though that can get in the way of her own happiness sometimes, it’s just who she is. It’s not intended as some noble thing. It’s not something for which applause or praise are expected.
Truth is – if she didn’t think about how this or that might impact everyone else, she simply wouldn’t be being herself.
Below I’d like to share a few thoughts about what a mother is, and about my mom in particular, and I’d also like to share a poem I recently wrote especially for her.