Many of us would be pretending today

May 11, 2014 Features / Columnists, My Column

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Today is the day when those of us who still have our mothers with us are going to join with the rest of the world to show our mothers that we love them.  Some with money are going to pull out the stops for the poor woman who would not even know what to do with some of the things we are going to give them.
There would be those who would try to keep up with the Joneses by forcing the old woman to dress up and accompany them to some restaurant where the food would make the old woman frown, because she knows that in her kitchen she could do so much more.
Like most mothers who never had much to begin with, she would keep an eye on the tab, because she knows that on any other day her son would not give her a cent, because he would complain that he recently had some expenses and that he would get some money to her within a few days.
When it is all over and the smiles come out because the neighbours have seen a demonstration of love, life would continue until next year.
When my mother lived in Guyana and I was a young man working away from home, I would ensure that I send her ‘small piece’ with a reminder that it was for Mother’s Day. My mother always wanted money, because feeding eight mouths and a husband who worked when he got the inclination, was not an easy task.
Of course, things got better as we, the children, became older and began to contribute. My sisters were not too much about taking the old lady out, but there I was, having been indoctrinated by the middle class in Guyana, taking my mother out to lunch. I wanted her to eat in a restaurant, something that she never did for a series of reasons, one of them being a lack of finance.
Another reason was that the cost of the meal was enough to allow her to provide meals for eight, so being forced to be frugal she could never understand the rush to eat in restaurants. I remember taking her to Sand Hills one year. I was trying my best to impress her, so I ordered the soup as an entrée.
“This soup is sheer water,” my mother told me.
The chicken dish that she ordered followed. Then came the ice cream. “Boy, you know me and dem sweet things, but I glad you bring me. De only thing is that all that money that you spend we coulda really cook up something at home and everybody would have enjoyed it.”
I had already left money for my sisters to really cook up a storm, but that was because I had the money to do it and because my ex-wife loved the family and she too loved to cook. However, I never took my mother out to lunch or dinner again. The feast was always at home and the family got together for a day of skin-teeth, old fashioned tantalise and love, lots of it.
She enjoyed the Winfield James show, so each year, whether I was there or not, I ensured that there were tickets for her and those of my sisters whom she wanted to take along. She is 90 now and living with a sister in Staten Island. She is going to get phone calls from all of us, not because we think that this is a special day because every day has been special; it is because we recognize that each day that we have her is Mother’s Day.
I also reach out to those mothers who want to enjoy the day but cannot because there is no companion to help. I know three mothers who would make a pilgrimage to the Camp Street jail with something special for their sons. And they are going to cry, then beg their sons to change their ways.
One mother, Karen, would be crying unceasingly because her son was killed on Main Street, Cummingsburg, on Friday. She made a lot of children and she knew what it was to have a member of her household coming under the gun. During the crime wave, she had Axel Williams going after her husband, Lloyd.
I remember doing the interview and Lloyd saying that this was the second time that they had “written on him” and that he was no slate. Karen walked the streets until she found Axel and she had a discussion with him and got his assurance that her husband would not be attacked again. She was that kind of woman who is a Mother Hen.
I ran into some young women who have decided to spend the day cleaning their mothers’ tombs. That is nice, but I always say that my children would not have to do that.  When I am gone I want to be cremated. No earthly monument for me—no tombs to clean on Father’s Day.
My employer is also good to poor mothers and he is going to attract a crowd around him today.
But there is another thing. I do not see the flurry when Father’s Day comes around. A few times I got a special meal and on two occasions I got pedicures. These days I treat myself as I would today. I am going to cook myself something nice, drink a few shots of Vodka, then visit a relative who loves to make mothers special.

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