Who’s your father?
Child's Play x2 | May 13I had a father once. He passed away when I was six and while I have tried hard to remember, my memories of him have slightly faded over time, like an old yellowed photograph. It was tough growing up without a father. It’s not something that a young child (or even a 35-year-old man, for that matter) gets over easily. Looking back on my childhood, however, I don’t dwell on that extremely sad time. It is but a snapshot of my life, and while it shapes who I am today unlike any other event in my life, it is not the only thing that defines me. Much of that is due to my mother.
My mother was widowed in August, 1977. She was a 27-year-old woman, suddenly left to provide for a six-year-old and his one-year-old brother. Within a year, she was enrolled in a four-year university and we moved to that campus so she could pursue her degree. Over the years my mother did her best to provide for my brother and myself. Only now am I beginning to understand the stress that she must have endured while raising two small children. Emotional and financial support was hard to come by for her, yet she did her best. While not perfect, she perservered. Yes, she stumbled at times but while she lost some battles, over time she won the war. She raised two well-adjusted, bright and successful young men.
She did this while many of her friends, with children the same age as myself, were having trouble with their children. Teenage pregnancies, school problems and more. I remember one day a friend of hers, who had a child who was rebellious and getting into trouble, asked how my mother managed to raise such wonderful boys. I don’t remember her answer, but I can tell you now what it was…
Everyday, she told us she loved us. Every. Day. Every night she would tuck me into bed and tell me she loved me. “I love you more than there are stars in the sky” she would whisper. I would reply, “Well, I love you more than there is sand on the beach.” And it would continue, each of us trying to outdo the other in professing our love. Through thick and thin, I knew my mother loved me.
Now, I’m a father of children of my own. While I don’t have a blueprint to follow as far as what a father should be, I only have to look to my mother’s love to know that being a parent has to start, and end, with love. So, as we get ready to celebrate Mother’s Day tomorrow, I will take some time to call my mother and tell her that I love her more than there are stars in the sky.
Happy Mother’s day to all of you mothers out there. May you find love and happiness in the face of your child.
Beautiful post . . .
A sentiment all mothers should read. From one mama’s boy to another, great story.
That was so sweet! I hope that Grandmother reads this.
That was a lovely post about your mother. She sounds like a beautiful, strong woman. Happy mother’s day to her!
That was beautiful and reminds me why I tell my daughter (now daughters) I love her everyday.
Thank you.
…and I love you more than there are grains of sand on the beach.
Excellent post!
You are one very lucky man. I am sorry you lost your father so early, but thank goodness you had a mother who loved you and did whatever was necessary to make sure you were okay. Very lucky. And think of the gift of all she did is now flowing down to your children, her grandchildren. One person really can make a difference in a family.