I interviewed an elderly woman who once knew the guy who got Mother’s Day set up as a holiday. This man thought a day honoring mothers would be nice, went to Washington and lobbied the government for its passage (this was back in the 1930’s).
After Mother’s Day passed, later, they of course had to make a Father’s Day (we mustn’t be sexist).
I don’t want any crazies out there to accuse me of not loving my mother. But let’s look at the facts.
Mother’s Day is one day out of the year. Officially, you appreciate your mother one day out of the year. What about the other days?
I resent conformity where everyone in the country has to do it the same day, like sheep answering a dinner bell.
We all love our moms, but mom, if I caused you pain when I was born…….you’ve (in fairness) caused me some pain too. You guys think it’s easy to be born, to have a head bigger than the rest of your entire body, squeezed through a narrow portal; to come into the world as red as a beet, blinking at bright lights, stupefied?
You’ve left your perfect home (the womb), and after a slap in the butt welcoming you, receive a freezing bath in a stainless-steel sink.
This is a portent. You’re facing an adult lifetime of utility bills.
Mom! Remember the time you called me a “monkey?” That hurt real bad. Children have troubles too. Why isn’t there a Children’s Day?
Mother’s Day is a recent phenomenon. How did the world exist for centuries, for ions, before? Pharaoh in Egypt. He didn’t get a stone tablet, carve a nice inscription on it, like, “dear mom, you bought me my first chariot,” and give it to his mother.
How did they survive?
I go to the store to buy a card, a piece of folded paper with a nice little ditty written on it by some guy in Tampa Bay, Florida. Other people wait for me to get the hell out of the way so they can buy a card before they’re all gone.
The card costs $6.95. Six-ninety-five for God’s sake! For a piece of folded paper.
I once bought an entire car for $75.
I begin to hate the guy who invented this holiday, wish I could throttle him with a blunt instrument.
I take my card, put it in an envelope, and go to the post office where I wait in a long line. This shows I love my mother.
I’d rather honor my mother all the other days of the year, and have one day, Mother’s Day, where I could be wicked and think only of myself.
I’ve got to end here. I’m late. I have to buy a Mother’s Day gift and get it in the mail by Wednesday noon.