leave my MOTHER out of THIS

Today, is my mother's birthday. I was her first, her only son, and likely the bane of her existence. She has hinted at that in the past, even used it as a weapon in moments of exasperation - but, these days her maternal instincts have her denying anything but love and support for me.

I have no horror stories or psychological damage or scars for which to make her a scapegoat. She has just always been my mom. She made it such an effortless journey growing up.

She has incredible strength and a sharp mind yet a fragile self image. My friends always told me how pretty she was. Your mom isn't supposed to be pretty or ugly or anything else. She's supposed to be androgynous. Just . . . Mom. But, even I knew she was pretty and it wasn't only because she was a girl. My mom is one of the most beautiful people I've ever met. She's so funny and insightful and kind and patient and self-sacrificing. She also spoiled me rotten but . . . of course she did, she's a mom.

There has never been a day in my life where I doubted her love or felt estranged from her. I'm sorry for those of you that can't say that. But, my life at home was so secure - with both of my parents, that I have never been afraid to lend my parents to anyone that needs them. I have several friends who have lost their mothers or have very poor or no contact with their mothers. I could not be prouder of anything in my life but to boast that now my mom is their mom, too. She has a knack for putting people at ease and making them comfortable.

I never saw any conflict between my mother and women that I brought to our home. She didn't sucker them in by pretending to be friendly to them - she was always sincere and genuine. She didn't feel compelled to make a show of her dominance. Actually if anyone had cause to be uncomfortable at those meetings it was me. In a matter of moments the two "girls" would be sitting at the kitchen table with tea or something and I'd be sent off so they could talk. Somehow I would manage to find the best out-of-sight listening post (like they didn't know) so I could assuage my paranoia. If my mom took sides it was with the young lady across the table from her. Nothing about me was off limits in those conversations. My mom delighted in sharing every dirty little secret and insight she believed would be essential for that woman to know in dealing with me. You know, of course, my mom was too smart to actually take sides but the easy environment and trust she established with my dates was remarkable. Whenever one would visit they would naturally seek out and gravitate towards my mother. My mom could be their friend without losing any position as the matriarch. What I'm saying is my mom is VERY cool.

I think I'm a fairly decent son. That's about the only relationship I've not screwed up. But, perhaps that's mostly her doing? Our relationship has developed along all of the expected stages. As a child the world only existed in whatever atmosphere my mom occupied. In my very early teens mom represented gender for the first time. She took care of that issue in her usual candid ways. At the onset of puberty I was greeted with these words, "Can't you hide that thing??" And shortly after that she advised me to go get a girlfriend. Mom got all of the awkward conversations and situations. It was my mother that taught my sister and me about sex. It was my mother that asked the tough personal questions. It was my mother who had to develop a poker face so she could listen to whatever statements or confessions I made through my teens and into my twenties that she really would have preferred not to know about. It was my mother that had to endure a period of anger and rejection when I wanted to distance myself from her affection and apron strings and I really didn't need to be such an asshole about it.

It was my mother who allowed herself to always be transparent and vulnerable so I could learn and not want to be an insensitive bastard when it came to what is important to women. My mother was the ambassador to the totally foreign world of femininity for me. Sometimes that diplomatic immunity got stretched a little far as when she yelled to my date as we walked out the door, "Watch his hands!" But, she also let me in and included me in her world. I still love our discussions about her hopes and aspirations. I'm glad that even though we are more peers than parent and child at this juncture that I'm also mature enough to appreciate she is still my mother.

When you come home for a visit, as an adult, who else but your mother hovers over the bed as you sleep to make sure you're still breathing? Who else is convinced you can win no matter what? Who makes you keep going so that one day you have the ability to show her, "It's OK to stop worrying, now, Mom. I'm happy and reasonably well-adjusted. And . . . I love you . . . and you did a GREAT job."

Happy Birthday, Mom.