Happy Birthday Mom!
“I had a mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea.
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth;
“Blackbirds” stowed in the hold beneath.
I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every *girl has a right to know.
I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness lent with his final breath.
I had a Mother who read me the things
That wholesome life to the girl heart brings-
Stories that stir with an upward touch.
Oh, that each mother of girls were such!
You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be —
I had a Mother who read to me.” -Strickland Gillilan
*Substituted ‘boy’ for ‘girl’
Today is my mom’s birthday.
I like how birthdays make you stop and really appreciate the people in your life. Throughout my adult life many more comparisons have been made about me to my dad. And it’s true, much of my personality traits are more distinct appendages of him. However, there are so many unspoken things that make up who I am that could only be a result of having this mom, so particular to me.
Mom, thank you for reading to me. Thank you for reading and re-reading my favorite stories that you must have had to sit through bored out of your mind…also, thank you for doing the voices to the characters. You logged a million hours in reading time to us, at least. Adventures of far off lands that were always possible to get to.
Thank you for not being materialistic, and for teaching me that none of that matters anyway. Thank you for letting me be me without asking questions, for putting up with me during junior high (or highschool- I’m not sure which was worse), and for introducing me to Mary-Kay, which is still the best lotion on the market. Thank you for telling me it’s okay that I didn’t send you a mother’s day card this year, or a birthday one, or ones the year before that, or the year before that. Thank you for doing my laundry when I come home without me even asking, and for planning meals around my dietary restrictions which make no sense to you (or to me most of the time).
Thank you for putting up with my whining, and for rocking me even when I was too big for it, and for letting me dance to Sinead O’Connor, and play outside barefoot, and run around with the neighborhood boys, and even break a couple of bones. Had you have been any different, I wouldn’t be who I am today. You are the best nurturer any of us could have asked for. I love this photo of you, holding your grandson who is the luckiest boy alive to be embraced in your arms.
