MOTHERS AND SONS-MOTHER'S DAY

There’s a special bond between mothers and sons. It’s the bond of servitude. Mothers generally wait on their sons hand and foot and sons wait on their mothers to wait on them.
It’s not a bad deal for a son, but it can be a killer for a marriage if the son expects to marry a gal just like good old dad did. Wives can be way too busy waiting on their own demanding children to wait on their husband/child hand and foot.
Sons suddenly become helpless around their mothers. They could be the king of the world, masters of their own domain or capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound, but get around their mothers and they become little boys again waiting for mommy to tie a bib around them before they eat.
That’s somewhat different than the CEO who expects his secretary to do everything for him. In other words, men are babies. Sorry guys, the truth hurts till you feel like bawling. But I digress.
When I visit my 91 year-old mother Milly Roddey (Yes, Milly and Billy, isn’t that cute?) I usually bring fast food for our dinner. However, at Christmas time mom has the four rings of fire roaring on the range, pots are boiling over, pans are sizzling, the oven is broiling and she’s young again feeding her family, her only child, his favorites. You can see the light in her dimming eyes brightly shining as she takes on the roll of her lifetime as my mother.
Sons have to be a tad careful though around their mothers in what they say or do, or they could be compared to good old dad, as in “You’re just like your father!” which is not necessarily a good thing.
Statistically, husbands die before their wives, perhaps to get out of doing the dishes. Men can be lazy, yet practical at the same time. But no matter what, there are more widows than widowers on the market.
When you overhear a platoon of widows talking about marriage it sounds like they feel they did their duty and served their sentence and now they can finally do what they really want to do, without having a man underfoot. However, many widowers are looking for their next wives to take care of them.
Regardless, a mother’s son never calls or visits enough, while the daughters, who may very well help them out the most, can be ignored and taken for granted.
My mother has known me all my life. I don’t know that she’s always approved of me, but she’s faked it well because she’s a true mother. We can argue and wonder if we’re really related at all, but our ties go back to my boyhood birthday parties, a million home cooked meals, bonding together behind the bedroom door as my mad dad tried to kick it in to get at us, girlfriends coming and going, pride in my academic achievements ( like the one time I made the honor roll in high school, and never did it again because it took too much studying), dogs that died after years of devotion till they just wore out in their teens, letters from home when I was shipped overseas in the service and over five decades of counseling and consoling.
My mother is a tiny tower of white haired strength, feisty in her faith, lasting in her loyalty and always a mother to everyone around her. She’s the generic mom with the super sized heart.
I’m proud to be her son. She’s had a tough life and has persevered. I didn’t get to meet her till she was 31 and had me, but almost every year since something reminds me that I’m more like her than anything else. Even if it doesn’t always show, like I just don’t understand why she hates chicken corn soup. It’s soooooo goooood!