Are You My Mother?

I spend a lot of time around kids who don't have full access to their parents. Many of them are being raised by grandparents or an aunt. Some are in foster care. Just recently we had a moment out in front of our school where a divorced mom and dad showed up in separate cars and began to barter for their son's attention with bribes of food and fun if he chose to come with this or that parent. It made me sad and tired imagining what that must be like for a seven-year-old brain to absorb.
And it made me happy because I never had to do that. I lived in a place where the affections of my parents were a certain thing. To be sure, there were times when my parents' affections for one another were uncertain, but they were always best when rallying around us kids. I knew who my mother was, and there was never any question about who knew me best. She put in the hours. From the time that I was in need of a volunteer to come to my second grade class and help prepare and dish out a Hawaiian feast for all of us short people to fully grasp the Pineapple State, to the Monday night dinners we used to share after I graduated from college. And through all those years of shared meals and moments, we talked. To be honest, I talked and she listened. To be fair, when I grew older, I started to listen. It's been an amazing conversation these past fifty years.
At the same time, I'm happy to listen in on the conversation my wife is having with our son. She's been listening for all these years too. She's been there before school, after school and when necessary, during school. He may not be as impressed with the attention he's getting as I am with the attention I get from my mother, but he's young and he'll learn. It's a beautiful thing. Thanks for listening.