Are you my mother?

There is a children’s book by author P.D Eastman about a lost dog who goes from animal to animal asking, “Are you my mother?” It is supposed to be a matching activity, with the child looking at each non-matching animal and shaking his/her head and adamantly saying, “No!” and excitedly say “Yes!” when it’s matching mother is found. Such an activity is not so easy in real life. While there are occasions when children look exactly like their procreator, there are even more times that it would be impossible to match mother with child.

Many parents these days, myself included, tend to be old fashioned. I have had the same coif for the past 40 years, and the style in which I dress screams “out of style.” There is nothing like wearing an Alfred Dunner outfit to date oneself, and to embarrass one’s child at a school function. Such parents often have children who go against the flow – purple hair fashionably shaved up one side and criss cross braided down the other, tattoos to save the wildlife, torn jeans, and piercings in places that look like it would have hurt to be pierced (ouch tongues and private parts). Biologically, they may be kin, but one could never tell by looking.

Then there are the children who do look like their moms but are not genetically related. Marie, my youngest daughter, is a good example; Caucasian, overweight, blonde hair and the same color eyes as me. People always assume we are biological mother and daughter by how we look, but she looks even more like her biological mom. Take my daughter, Dinora, adopted from Guatemala, who couldn’t look more different; short, trim stature, beautiful coffee colored skin, dark brown eyes and long silky hair. We look like polar opposites, but I couldn’t be more of a mother to her had I borne her myself.

Many stepmothers are genuine mothers to their spouse’s biological children. In other familial situations, grandparents and aunts act in this role, and even though the actual title of mother is murkier, they generally unselfishly fill this role, providing stability for children who desperately need it.

Let us not forget the multitude of women who nurture and care for our children, supplementing motherhood. I had a teacher at Warwick Vets, Mrs. Casey, whose encouragement had me believe I could do anything I wanted in life. Mrs. Nappa, in Oakland Beach, provided loving childcare for my own children, teaching them many life lessons that have my children have carried with them to this day. My endearing mom, who lived across the street, supplemented my parenting with ideas and encouragement of her own.

Women who volunteer at Women’s and Infants Hospital provide the physical and emotional tradition of mothering by cuddling and rocking premature babies born addicted to heroin, cocaine and other drugs. The tiny, trembling bodies are calmed by their tender voices and gentle motion provided by these temporary moms. They instill their solidarity and affection into the squirmy, crying infants even though they are not yet ready to handle such an emotion. It is a joyous day when the infant does respond and become calmer and more responsive to human touch.

Of course, one cannot forget the mothering provided by foster moms, who lovingly care for a child not their own, even though that child may one day be returned to his/her biological family. Such a gut wrenching sacrifice, which can happen time and time again, is laudable in the true sense of the definition of mother.

There are also many women, through no fault of their own, for whom being a mother has eluded them. While the spirit of motherhood is within them, this spirit has failed to materialize. They lavish their affection on countless other children, improving their lives in the process.

As Mothers Day approaches, let us expand our definition of what a mother is to include all women around us. Except for those who decry they hate children, all women, in some way, have nurturing in their souls, and for that, they should be celebrated. Happy Mothers Day, everyone!