I was not a grateful son to my mother. In fact there were times in my teen years when I resented her, or was ashamed of her. Do you want to throw rocks? Go ahead … they’d be well deserved.

Now let me make something clear … I loved my mum. I’ve grown to love her more and more as I have got older, and understand more about what she had to deal with. I know a lot more now about things that were going on then than I did at the time. So this is a kind of Mother’s Day plea. Mum’s … share with your kids. Kids … Honor your mother (and your father). Especially, kids, cut mum some slack … she’s dealing with stuff you know nothing about.

In my case, since we were (from about when I was10) a single parent household, there were some tough times. My elder brother, going through his mid-teens, was out of control and abusive. Other kids seemed to have families that were all together, and mothers that were always in control. Other kids stayed with their families, and didn’t seem to spend time in children’s “home’s” (still my entry for the top 10 euphemism list) or with foster parents. So I guess I thought I had it rough. But still …

The three most precious memories of my mother:- One day when I came home from school, the house was warm, clean and tidy, and there was dinner in the oven (it must have happened many times … but that one day sticks in my mind). One day when I was in a concert at school and mum was in the audience (I hated that green suit, but I loved that she was there) … I resented all the one’s she missed, as though she had a choice. The one time I won a prize (a sympathy award, I believe, looking back) and mum was proud of me … I know she was proud of me, but we didn’t talk about that kind of thing.

Now I look back, and see how desparately mum tried to keep us together. I remember the time she took food off her plate to feed one of us who had to complain about being hungry. I see how she pushed us towards education, and doing better with ourselves.   I see the times she humiliated herself to get what she thought we needed.  I see that she had the persistence and the refusal to give up that is in my make up.  And I see it’s nothing special … I see millions of mums doing the same things everyday, breaking their backs and their hearts for ungrateful sons and daughters, and I am ashamed, and wish I could sit her down and tell her how much I love her, and miss her. … I missed that chance, and may never get another, because I don’t know that mum (who hated churches) ever got saved. 

This is a Mother’s Day mea culpa. I have sinned. I have repented, but the consequences will remain.