Reconsidering Mother's Day

I actually wrote the piece referenced on Mother's Day for the BBW blog, but I am now going back to read/edit/publish a few outstanding pieces here at the Cafe. Bear with me.

I've been trying to gather my thoughts to write over at the Busy Black Woman blog about Mother's Day for a while, but I think that effort is futile. My emotions are a little too erratic for humor...so I am here to be raw and serious and to try to express my emotions in a more or less coherent manner.

Because I hate Mother's Day. I have probably admitted this previously, and maybe I will go back to see if I am right, but for now, I will let that declaration stand alone. I. Hate. Mother's. Day.

At some point, my mother made Mother's Day a test of how much anxiety could she force upon me by making me feel that I never loved her enough, or that I never demonstrated the right amount of gratitude. You see, before the Alzheimer's my mother was a pill--at times, a bitter, oblong, hard-to-swallow horse pill. In the years after my grandmother's death, and literally up to the year I revolted and determined that something was terribly wrong (when all of this was becoming a reality), she could be a...bitter ass pill.

I will not recount how bad, how bittersweet, how utterly insufferable this time of year could be for me--when nothing I did was good enough (but the nothing my Dad and brothers did was somehow, just fine). But I will say that even after spending my first Mother's Day last year with my in-laws, practically spoiled because the Babe was brand-new and this was the first time everyone was meeting her, I still dread this stupid holiday. Even though it felt good to be the quasi-center of attention for once. Of course, they were all excited about the Babe, a month old, but I have come to realize that a lot of my happiness nowadays comes from her.

All of that was written back in May. All of this below is new:
I survived Mother's Day by going to church, which has become a refuge for me. That is unbelievable because it was only a few years ago that I was declaring myself a proud member of Bedside Baptist. Life, man.

Someone at my church (and I will have to write about this at some point) has decided that they will find whatever opportunity possible to stand me up in front of that congregation. I was asked to give the welcome for Mother's Day, which meant a lot of preparation before and then a lot of rushing the morning of, but we made it! And several months later (because I was asked to give another presentation at church just yesterday and had to do the same thing) I am now getting it.

Public speaking was something that my mother did very well, but as usual, her stage mommy ways made it an uneven experience. As kids that grew up in the church with both grandmothers, an aunt and then later in Catholic school, we had plenty of opportunity to speak in front of church folks. Many of those experiences did not involve my mother, but her spirit was there because the Hawkins children never read from a slip of paper in front of an audience. The Hawkins children always memorized their scripts.

Did I tell you that my mother taught public speaking? And drama? Do you see where this might be going?

I will actually go in the opposite direction to say that she seemed pleased by my presentation. And that I am already thinking of how well-trained my daughter will be when she reached the age of standing in front of the church. Like mother...as they say.

Since the tone of this piece has changed from a whine to a tribute I must say that for all of her faults, my mother was right (just not about everything). I learned a lot from her example. I may never become a great public speaker, but if the people at my church think that I am a decent enough speaker, then it is because of her high expectations. This past Mother's Day, when I was just happy that we made it to church on time, I forgot to reflect on the reason why...

I hope I made her proud.