Not All Mothers Are Flowers

Every Mother's Day I thank my own mom for giving me life, along with all the years of support and guidance she's offered and the lessons she's thought me. At the same time, I consider the many students who reach my desk with stories of motherly neglect and abandonment that don't make the Sunday news. These are the wounded young and older souls who are forced to face their childhood scars, tolerate Mother's Day hype and walk by flowers that deserve a holding hand but because of past trauma, cannot appreciate the beautiful colors and smells that represent pleasant memories of being considered and held. For these wounded individuals, the term mother is somewhat of an oxymoron; a figure of speech. A total assumption that vagina automatically means motherly/nurturing when we know of many moms and grandmoms who shouldn't be parents by the lack of emotionality in their giving hands. Not all mothers are flowers. Some make babies to keep a fleeing man. Some create life to have a life. Some define their womanhood according to social welfare benefits. Some just plain don't have a clue, so they pass on the burden onto the kid whose job will be to figure it out for themselves. And when that same kid, now transformed into an angry, jaded young woman/young man, my job or hope is to transform years of neglect back to when disillusionment wasn't yet a side effect; before rage found its name, before mother became an absent figure and before Mother's Day became an annual thorn to their side. How we get rid of our thorns is up to the wounded. The other side effect of being left with questions unanswered. We can either continue allowing the void to dictate how we live and love, and in turn raise ourt own children, or turn victimization into victory by releasing the pain, giving it back to the very person who created it and create a new identity for ourselves. One that is more accurate, closer to who we believe/feel we are, in order to prevent more wounded children. We do this in the name of love and the One we pray to and say to our ancestors aloud and with newfound pride-- This is the year I welcome Mother's Day, as I mother myself in the way that my mother didn't know how to. Ashe!