With Mother’s Day around the corner, I turn my attention to that special someone, a someone who is so important in the makeup of the universe that she has a whole 24 hours named after her.

My Mother.

My Mother was an amazing woman. She was a single Mother and yet she knew the atomic weight of every element on the Periodic Table.

She was stern but fair. When my sister and I would fight she made us settle it like adults—with pistols. Of course they weren’t loaded. Only one was; the fairness came in that she knew my sister and I were lousy shots.

My Mother worked a full-time job and then came home to make us dinner. If she felt like it.

She was a religious and God-fearing woman, God having mugged her once in West Philly. She made sure that we were raised right, which made it hard for my brother who was left-handed, liberal and wrong.

Education was very important to my Mother. She went to night school and studied dusk. Her thesis on dusk is in a science magazine; at least that’s where I hid it from her.

My Mother always put us kids first, especially in traffic.

My Mother believed that life is a gift and we should never take a gift from a stranger, especially when that stranger is an abstract concept.

Mother didn’t like to be called “Mom,” as it was too informal. She preferred “Mother” or “Mr. Mom” or “Queen Rubmyfeet.”

On birthdays, Mother would bake a cake and write a haiku, like this one:

Today you were born
Today you will eat some cake
Jimmy Carter sucks

When I went to college, my Mother cried. When I graduated from college, my Mother cried. When I got married, my Mother cried. My Mother is a big pussy.

Now here I am as an adult, a product of my Mother’s love, upbringing and guidance. I have learned a lot from her, except her name and address.

Happy Mother’s Day, Queen Rubymyfeet, wherever you are!

Image Credit: Flickr user WTL photos