So, today is Mother’s Day; a holiday so widely celebrated that it’s easy to forget that there are lots of people who don’t have much to celebrate - the motherless. Statistically speaking, it should come as no surprise to anyone when they meet someone who didn’t have a great mother. I mean, we’re all keenly aware of stories of terrible mothers - we all grew up with at least one friend who’s mother was just objectively awful. We’ve heard the news stories and even seen countless examples in public. And while we quickly and commonly separate fatherhood from simply fathering a child, we are far less likely to do so for mothers. In fact, it should be no less common and no more difficult to do this for motherhood. Fertility and suitability for child rearing have no appreciable correlation and it’s high time to stop pretending they do. More importantly, we all need and benefit from maternalism in our lives, and for far more of us than you might think, the last place we got this from was our biological mothers.
So, on this Mother’s Day, I propose a dual alternative celebration. First, a celebration of those who survived bad moms and second, a celebration of those mothers who didn’t give birth to those they mother - for if there are heroes to be celebrated today, those seem like the biggest heroes of all.
Bad Moms
Long before the ill-fated Mila Kunis comedy vehicle was even a sparkle in Jon Lucas’ eye, the world has endured terrible mothers. Historical and modern allegories of these maternal disasters are plentiful, including Jocasta (mother to Oedipus), Madea (not Tyler Perry’s) and Fay Dunaway’s famous biographical turn as Joan Crawford (Mommie Dearest). But they’re not without more modern and real-life counterparts - including Mama June (Here Comes Honey Boo Boo), Nadya Suleman (Octomom) and my personal favorite, Snooki (Jersey Shore). The vast majority of us can agree that all of those are examples of irredeemably terrible mothers and yet, when faced with the possibility of a terrible mother closer to home (i.e. connected to us in some way) we are commonly reluctant to make similar judgments.
So, as you might expect, I count myself in this category - I had a bad mom. And before the clucking and and “aww”-ing commences, just hear me out. I don’t think she was an evil person - but from adolescence on, my mother and I didn’t just have a bad relationship, we didn’t have a relationship at all. I was far from a “good” or “easy” kid. I was an atheist growing up in a religious house; a perennial outsider who had trouble locating a spot to fit in even in his own family. I had chronic ADHD back when they just called it “hyperactivity” and I was a tragically late bloomer with an expectedly paralyzing bit of depression and social anxiety to go along with it. To make matters worse, I had a little sister who was about as good as a daughter gets. She was pretty, charming, articulate, popular and widely liked by both adults and her peers. I know parents have favorites, despite what they might claim; I was an easy second choice (out of two) and I don’t blame my mom for that.
No, what my mom did wasn’t criminal, neglectful or even morally repugnant - it just wasn’t loving… or anything close to it. My mom tolerated me, and while that might be the best that could be expected under the circumstances, I don’t see any reason to celebrate it - today or otherwise.
To the Survivors
I’ve had the chance, over the years, to commiserate with others who have endured similar childhoods. There is a fraternity in this experience; a shared guilt over not having a “traditional” maternal presence, and today is for us like Valentine’s Day for single people (and yes, I have to endure that one, too). Growing up without this influence in your life isn’t easy - after all, there are a lot more single moms than single dads, but most people I’ve met who feel this way had a mother around, she just wasn’t doing much mothering. This is a far more insidious and difficult challenge - because no one feels bad for someone who grew up with both parents in their house, no matter how badly it may have gone. But there should just as much room in our hearts for those who grow up to be good people without a great mom as we have for those great moms, themselves. This should also be a holiday for those survivors.
Survivors of bad motherhood have to find comfort in themselves in those weak moments. They learn to be their own mothers - or even more challenging, to let others in as surrogates, and give that same vulnerability without the security of a biological imperative. As much as I celebrate the challenge of successful single motherhood, I am even more inclined to celebrate those who have accomplished some measure of well-adjusted adulthood without a loving and dedicated mother. Many of these people go on, notwithstanding my own failures in such regard, to loving relationships and beautiful families - despite the emotional void inevitably left behind by a less-than-great mother. Today belongs to them as much as anyone.
To the Other Mothers
Fertility is never mentioned among the traits that make a great mother. In fact, the mutual exclusivity of these concepts is as old as time, itself. In fact, the most commonly mentioned maternal trait - selflessness, is precisely what makes surrogacy possible. Humans have the extraordinary ability to selflessly love progeny other than our own - and I have had the great good fortune to have been mothered by some of the most amazing women.
To my little sister, who is, without question, the greatest mother I know. Cindy has raised four of the most intelligent, respectful and well-adjusted kids I have ever even heard of from their generation, let alone met. But that’s what she’s been up to for the past sixteen or so years. Before that, and after my own mother had given up on me, she was the proverbial “lady of the house” hosting family events, remembering birthdays and keeping the peace among feuding relatives. But for Cindy, there wouldn’t even be an extended family connection, and she always makes time for family members in need - almost maniacally. She also had an unwavering belief in me - something my own mother could never manage - even when I didn’t believe in myself. If that’s not being a mom, I’m not sure what is.
To the many great loves of my past - who were there for me to celebrate my achievements with genuine pride and to carry me through my weakest moments. I have lost a great deal more love than I will ever be able to give back, but what I have gained in return is a true appreciation for the importance of a maternal figure in my life. Also, for the ability to not be swayed by the commonly held misconceptions about men who don’t have a great relationship with their mother. I can’t tell you how immediately I want to get away from someone who thinks that is cogent analysis of my personality. Trust me, if you think having a bad relationship with my mother means we won’t get along, you’re right … that we won’t get along, but it’s got nothing to do with my mother.
To my close female friends, who are there for me without reservation or qualification. Those who provide the maternal judgment of my personal life that helps me avoid danger and seek out a great partner. My own mother was particularly damaging in this respect, and tried to bake in a deep shame into me that took me much longer to shake than it should have. But without the help of those who truly wanted to see my happy for no other reason than they found me deserving and worthy, I never would have made it this far, and I’ve avoided a great number of disasters, thanks entirely to them.
To the mothers of friends and lovers, many of whom have stepped in during holidays, weddings and other special occasions to offer the kind of love that only a mother can give. I have been an adopted son over and over again - sometimes for years, sometimes for just a moment, and it is sublime each and every time. Great mothering is, more than anything, unselfish.
And to anyone I didn’t mention - but who loves me nevertheless, thanks to you more than anyone. It is quintessentially maternal to toil on with the selfless love of motherhood without the slightest expectation of reciprocation.
So, on this Mother’s Day, I propose a dual alternative celebration. First, a celebration of those who survived bad moms and second, a celebration of those mothers who didn’t give birth to those they mother - for if there are heroes to be celebrated today, those seem like the biggest heroes of all.
Bad Moms
Long before the ill-fated Mila Kunis comedy vehicle was even a sparkle in Jon Lucas’ eye, the world has endured terrible mothers. Historical and modern allegories of these maternal disasters are plentiful, including Jocasta (mother to Oedipus), Madea (not Tyler Perry’s) and Fay Dunaway’s famous biographical turn as Joan Crawford (Mommie Dearest). But they’re not without more modern and real-life counterparts - including Mama June (Here Comes Honey Boo Boo), Nadya Suleman (Octomom) and my personal favorite, Snooki (Jersey Shore). The vast majority of us can agree that all of those are examples of irredeemably terrible mothers and yet, when faced with the possibility of a terrible mother closer to home (i.e. connected to us in some way) we are commonly reluctant to make similar judgments.
So, as you might expect, I count myself in this category - I had a bad mom. And before the clucking and and “aww”-ing commences, just hear me out. I don’t think she was an evil person - but from adolescence on, my mother and I didn’t just have a bad relationship, we didn’t have a relationship at all. I was far from a “good” or “easy” kid. I was an atheist growing up in a religious house; a perennial outsider who had trouble locating a spot to fit in even in his own family. I had chronic ADHD back when they just called it “hyperactivity” and I was a tragically late bloomer with an expectedly paralyzing bit of depression and social anxiety to go along with it. To make matters worse, I had a little sister who was about as good as a daughter gets. She was pretty, charming, articulate, popular and widely liked by both adults and her peers. I know parents have favorites, despite what they might claim; I was an easy second choice (out of two) and I don’t blame my mom for that.
No, what my mom did wasn’t criminal, neglectful or even morally repugnant - it just wasn’t loving… or anything close to it. My mom tolerated me, and while that might be the best that could be expected under the circumstances, I don’t see any reason to celebrate it - today or otherwise.
To the Survivors
I’ve had the chance, over the years, to commiserate with others who have endured similar childhoods. There is a fraternity in this experience; a shared guilt over not having a “traditional” maternal presence, and today is for us like Valentine’s Day for single people (and yes, I have to endure that one, too). Growing up without this influence in your life isn’t easy - after all, there are a lot more single moms than single dads, but most people I’ve met who feel this way had a mother around, she just wasn’t doing much mothering. This is a far more insidious and difficult challenge - because no one feels bad for someone who grew up with both parents in their house, no matter how badly it may have gone. But there should just as much room in our hearts for those who grow up to be good people without a great mom as we have for those great moms, themselves. This should also be a holiday for those survivors.
Survivors of bad motherhood have to find comfort in themselves in those weak moments. They learn to be their own mothers - or even more challenging, to let others in as surrogates, and give that same vulnerability without the security of a biological imperative. As much as I celebrate the challenge of successful single motherhood, I am even more inclined to celebrate those who have accomplished some measure of well-adjusted adulthood without a loving and dedicated mother. Many of these people go on, notwithstanding my own failures in such regard, to loving relationships and beautiful families - despite the emotional void inevitably left behind by a less-than-great mother. Today belongs to them as much as anyone.
To the Other Mothers
Fertility is never mentioned among the traits that make a great mother. In fact, the mutual exclusivity of these concepts is as old as time, itself. In fact, the most commonly mentioned maternal trait - selflessness, is precisely what makes surrogacy possible. Humans have the extraordinary ability to selflessly love progeny other than our own - and I have had the great good fortune to have been mothered by some of the most amazing women.
To my little sister, who is, without question, the greatest mother I know. Cindy has raised four of the most intelligent, respectful and well-adjusted kids I have ever even heard of from their generation, let alone met. But that’s what she’s been up to for the past sixteen or so years. Before that, and after my own mother had given up on me, she was the proverbial “lady of the house” hosting family events, remembering birthdays and keeping the peace among feuding relatives. But for Cindy, there wouldn’t even be an extended family connection, and she always makes time for family members in need - almost maniacally. She also had an unwavering belief in me - something my own mother could never manage - even when I didn’t believe in myself. If that’s not being a mom, I’m not sure what is.
To the many great loves of my past - who were there for me to celebrate my achievements with genuine pride and to carry me through my weakest moments. I have lost a great deal more love than I will ever be able to give back, but what I have gained in return is a true appreciation for the importance of a maternal figure in my life. Also, for the ability to not be swayed by the commonly held misconceptions about men who don’t have a great relationship with their mother. I can’t tell you how immediately I want to get away from someone who thinks that is cogent analysis of my personality. Trust me, if you think having a bad relationship with my mother means we won’t get along, you’re right … that we won’t get along, but it’s got nothing to do with my mother.
To my close female friends, who are there for me without reservation or qualification. Those who provide the maternal judgment of my personal life that helps me avoid danger and seek out a great partner. My own mother was particularly damaging in this respect, and tried to bake in a deep shame into me that took me much longer to shake than it should have. But without the help of those who truly wanted to see my happy for no other reason than they found me deserving and worthy, I never would have made it this far, and I’ve avoided a great number of disasters, thanks entirely to them.
To the mothers of friends and lovers, many of whom have stepped in during holidays, weddings and other special occasions to offer the kind of love that only a mother can give. I have been an adopted son over and over again - sometimes for years, sometimes for just a moment, and it is sublime each and every time. Great mothering is, more than anything, unselfish.
And to anyone I didn’t mention - but who loves me nevertheless, thanks to you more than anyone. It is quintessentially maternal to toil on with the selfless love of motherhood without the slightest expectation of reciprocation.
* * *
There was a time when the shame and guilt of Mother’s Day would only allow me to scroll through the well-wishes of friends and families for their own mothers and feel sorry for myself and jealous of their happiness. Gradually, I reached out more and more to the great mothers I knew and sent my regards, and now I can finally celebrate the day for what it means to me and those out there, like me. So, while you’re taking time to pamper and celebrate the mothers in your life, spare a thought for those who don’t have it so good - we’ve got plenty of thanks to give for the very same kind of love… that we got from someone (or someones) who wasn’t our mother, but was/were every bit our mom(s).
Happy Mothers Day.