No, my mother is not “The Best Mother”: She is so special to me!
Happy Mother’s Day: Part II
[Warning: This article is quite long. Although this is all about MY mother, I am actually inviting you to keep your own mother in your thoughts and hearts while you are reading this. After all, your own mother is unique and special – as you have experienced her.]
Every Mother’s Day we usually hear and read people describing their mother as the best mother. Or give her the ultimate title as “The Best Mother In The World”.
However, I am not comfortable describing my mother this way. I would rather describe her as “So Special To Me”. But before I explain myself why, let me share the 5 reasons why she is so special to me.
First, A Tutor
On the first part of my piece dedicated to Mother’s Day, I introduced my mother as a grade schoolteacher. So, yes, being a tutor is literally being a teacher. And I also mentioned how good a teacher she was, even to kids other teachers would find “unteachable” or cruelly referred to as “hopelessly irredeemable”.
I believe a career in teaching is one of those few professions that could be forgiven for letting personal and work overlap each other. Or, to put it another way, a professional job that one can bring home.
24-hour job
Whether at school with her students or at home with her kids, my mother’s job as a teacher was 24/7. And she was tenacious and strict both to her pupils and her own children when it came to studying and mastering their lessons.
My mother was so proud of all her nine children. Whatever academic achievement they all have possessed, most of the credits go to our mother. After all, before we even knew what a classroom looked like, we were already learning how to read and write at home.
How I hope my mother is still able to read, so she will also remember the things that I am going to reminisce here.
Let me start by boldly saying that during our grade school years, our family name would become so familiar during the Commencement Exercises. This was the event where, at the end of the school year, each grade level would present its highest achievers to receive awards and honors from the school. And there was never an occasion where our name was never mentioned, if any one of the nine siblings was in that school.
My father used to tell us that during the school years of our first three older brothers, this was always a cause for a family celebration. Special food and drinks were squeezed within the tight budget. However, over the years the event became so common, and my father found it very expensive to continue with the tradition.
Ribbons, medals, and other forms of award would occupy a good portion of the walls in our living room. All this was due to our hardworking mother-the-teacher.
I would like to share a particular event that happened when I was in grade six. I cannot remember what the school was celebrating that week. But one afternoon, after the so-called “flag retreat” (the daily ritual at school marking the end of the school day, and where the flag was lowered while we all sang the national anthem), the school principal made an announcement. The school maybe had more than a thousand students, from grade one to six. (This was the time when teachers never complained of having 25-50 students in a classroom.)
She loved a challenge
The principal would sponsor a contest. Any student at any level could compete. And everybody was given one week to prepare. After a week he expected the first 10 students to stand before the crowd. And for some reason only known to the principal, he chose one of the most famous speeches given by a president of the United States of America.
This was the Gettysburg Address, delivered by President Abraham Lincoln on November 19, 1863, amidst the Civil War. It was not a long address, in fact Lincoln spent just two minutes delivering it at a military cemetery in Pennsylvania. But the thought of standing in front of thousands of students and teachers was horrifying to the young minds.
The principal threw the challenge to all teachers to begin choosing their ideal candidates, and to make sure they were ready by next week.
That very night my mother went to overdrive. There was no Google at that time, of course. The school library had run out of books containing the Gettysburg Address. Even before the principal made the announcement! Talk about conspiracy theory, even then. There was no reason we would have a copy in our home. My mother’s solution? She dug up the long-buried words from her memory. She knew the speech by heart in her younger years.
Among my siblings, there were only three of us left in grade school during this time, the others were already in college or in high school. And I was the oldest at the moment. Worse, my mother taught in grade six, and I was under her. Ergo, I was her candidate!
God, it was a terrifying night. My mother did not let me go to sleep until I had memorized the speech. My mother mustered all her skills as a teacher, a mother, a psychologist, whatever. She cajoled me, flattered me, everything she could do to make me believe I could do it.
The next day, during the flag retreat ceremony, the principal once again made an announcement that the 1-week preparation for the contest was down to six days. And he reminded everyone that he was looking forward to the much-awaited day.
And then he made a wrong joke. “But if anyone here who is ready, please come forward to the stage.” The crowd erupted in laughter. How could one be ready after just one day?
She was brave
But standing so proud in that crowd was my mother. When everything was quiet, she raised her hand. “We are ready!” She shouted with such confidence. All eyes were on her, and on our class. The principal was speechless. He looked around, to make sure what he was seeing and heard was real.
My mother looked at me. I felt like I was melting, I could feel my whole body shaking. But my mother had a way of looking at you that would tell you that saying no was not an option.
“You can do it,” she whispered to me. “I believe in you. Let them pay for the lost sleep you had last night.” And then she gave me her wicked motherly grin.
The rest is history. I did it – flawlessly.
That’s how good my mother was, as a tutor. She was not afraid of taking up a challenge, if she knew she was good at it. And she would never surrender in encouraging you to shine to your utmost potential.
My mother could bring out the best in you.
Interestingly, the etymology of the word tutor goes beyond being a teacher. From Latin it also means “to care for”, to “guard”, “defend”, “protect”, “support”, “preserve”. And all these are easily the description of my mother.
And, to you dear readers, they are descriptions of your own mother as well, even if she is not a literal teacher.
Second, A Role Model
One of the best qualities of my mother was the way she treats people. She would always remind us that she would never do anything to others that she would not want them to do to us. Yes, this sounds cliché. But my mother has lived by that golden rule all her life. I do not remember her saying something that sounds judgmental about other people. She was a schoolteacher, and sometimes I would witness my mother sitting with a group of teachers enjoying one of their past times: gossiping. At a very young age I could already see that my mother was there for the simple reason that she had to, for the sake of belongingness and camaraderie. And it was so obvious she was the odd one. It never surprised me my mother was not so popular among some of her peers. And I loved her more for that.
Further to this, I will never forget my mother’s words on gossiping. “Be very careful when you say bad things about other people behind their back. Because it says a lot about your character.”
This is one example of my mother that I find difficult to emulate myself sometimes. Gossiping is almost a part of human weakness that is difficult to overcome. This is where my mother has become so special to me. She is a very kind-hearted soul.
Third, A Problem Solver
Growing up, I would witness my father freaking out when our family was faced with a crisis (most often involving our finances). While my father was rambling about our dire predicament, my mother stayed quiet while thinking about the solutions. For example, when there’s a question of where the next meal was coming from, my mother would disappear for a few hours. When she came back, the problem was solved.
For a time, many of her escapades like this were still shrouded in mystery. Did she borrow money? Had any of her jewelry been pawned? Or were any of her old coins collection sold? It was only when I was a grown up that she told me that it was during those times when she had to sell some of her favorite orchid collections, or a few of her rare flowers.
With nine children to raise, all sorts of emergencies were expected. We were always thankful that all became grownups without having to experience any major health or medical issues. However, occasionally there would be some minor scares. And, again, my father would start to panic. True to her nature, my mother was always calm. She always had her home-made cure, which she inherited from her own mother.
This is the kind of experience that I had with my mother that almost convinced me that men are actually the weaker sex, in some areas of life. My father was so good at analyzing our situation and identifying the impending crisis. And he was also good at making it appear that it was the end of the world.
But nothing could unnerve my mother’s calm demeanor. For example, if my father experienced some minor illness, he would never let my mother out of his sight. But if it was my mother, the last person to know she was not feeling well was my father.
This is one quality that makes my mother so special to me. Life is full of challenges and crises, and my mother taught us to never give up looking for solutions.
Fourth, A Forgiver
With seven boys under her wings, one can just imagine how our household looked like when we were young. Nasty fighting and petty crimes of mischief were normal occurrences. Our father was a good whipper, he took care of the corporal punishment when called for. Meanwhile, I could count with my fingers in one hand the times our mother would resort to any physical penance.
During the few times that our father was harsh in his words toward our mother, we would go and offer her some comfort. And naïve as I was, one time I was so upset that I asked her to leave our father. Looking back now, I understood that she found my thoughts very bad and that she decided to nip that in the bud right there. “Remember this,” she sternly looked me in the eyes. “No matter how harsh your father can be sometimes to us, he is a very decent and loving man. In all the years we have been together, I will never hesitate to offer my own life for him many times over.”
I have so many things to be thankful for from my father. But it was our mother’s forgiving heart that taught us the importance of forgiveness. This is another unforgettable lesson I heard from her, “Forgiveness is good, both for the offender and the offended.”
As a grade schoolteacher, my mother was so beloved by her young pupils. While some of her colleagues would make it their habit to dump delinquent and difficult students to her class, my mother was more than happy to give these poor souls the chance. Sometimes the same colleagues would call my mother a miracle worker. Those “rejected pupils” would end up doing great in class. My mother understood that in most cases, troubled kids have harbored pent up anger inside. So, she would spend more time with them talking about the importance of forgiveness.
Well, having 9 unruly kids at home herself, my mother had the best training ground she could ever have. After every fight and all the crying, there’s a lot of forgiving to exchange around.
If ever I am known to be a forgiving person today, it was all because of my mother. But unfortunately, I am still a work in progress. This makes my mother so special to me.
Fifth, A Friend
As I mentioned, my mother has never played favorites among all of her nine brood. And this best quality of my mother continued even when the siblings began to have families of their own. And, naturally, this would mean in-laws were becoming part of the family. So, of course, this would also mean some minor cracks and differences would start to disrupt the dynamics in the family. Loyalties and priorities shift.
The hub at the center of all this is my mother. No one among the siblings, more so among the in-laws, can buy my mother’s impartial love. Until this time, my mother remains the glue that binds the family together. And no one will disagree when I say my mother is always a friend to everyone in the family.
This can be traced to where she came from. She grew up in a poor family with eleven (11!) siblings. Although she would describe the family in general as a loving and happy one, it was not immune to the chaos, bedlam, and pandemonium of a huge family.
According to my mother’s account, since she was a young child, she was the favorite of all her siblings. And we never doubted her claim; many years later we would witness ourselves how much my mother was so loved by all her grown-up brothers and sisters. I have lost count of the many instances my mother was able to mediate between them every time a serious quarrel erupted. My mother was always in the middle, taking the role of a peacemaker.
Probably not everyone will agree with how my mother would usually bring the peace. For example, when one sibling would confide to her and pour out their anger toward another sibling – and call that sibling all kinds of names – my mother would just listen. She never added fuel to the fire. Being a good listener, it would bring some calm and peace to the angry sibling.
And then, my mother would go and visit the other sibling. But instead of focusing on all the negative words that the first sibling had said about that “guilty” sibling, she would find one tiny positive thing the first sibling had uttered. And made that as the focus. That guilty sibling would be surprised and happy to know that the angry sibling was not that so angry after all. This was how a reconciliation would start. My mother was so good at this. She’s a good listener. And a good messenger of love.
So, there they are. My mother is a Tutor, a Role Model, a Problem Solver, a Forgiver, and a Friend. All rolled into one. This makes her so special to me.
[There were times my mother would miss her own mother. When I was a young boy, I would often hear my mother sing this song, titled “Mama”, in memory of her mother.]
But my mother is not the best mother. Not in the sense that I often hear people say that their mother is the best mother.
And why is my mother not the best mother? Just two reasons.
One, if I refer to my mother as the best mother, it means I am comparing her to other mothers. The word “best” is a comparative-superlative adjective. But even if it is a superlative description, I do not want to compare her with other mothers.
My mother is uniquely one of its kind. Just like each and every mother in the world. So, I would rather describe her as “my very special mother.” There is no comparison there, because no other mother compares with her.
She is special to me because I experienced her in a very unique way. I was special to her. I was unique to her. Just like each and every sibling I have was especially unique to her.
Two, if I call my mother The Best Mother in the world, it would be an insult to each and every person in the world. Each mother is unique, and she is experienced in a unique way.
So, why don’t we all just say:
ALL MOTHERS ARE THE BEST HUMAN BEING IN THE WORLD!
Would anybody disagree on this? Reflect on the following examples:
A German writer named Hajo Schumacher wrote an Essay in Der Spiegel: “A nurse from the hospice told me that the last words of dying men often resembled each other …almost everyone is calling for “Mommy” or “Mama” with their last breath. (And these are old men.)
I have friends in the military. A number of them would tell me that in the heat of battle, when death was a possibility, the first person that came to their mind was their mother. So, even the bravest of men would shout for their mother in their dire moments.
We see in the news recently about some young men pursued and abused by police, they cried out for their mom.
Jesus was gasping for his last breath on the cross. When he saw Mary and the beloved disciple at the foot of the cross, Jesus was still concerned about the well-being of his widowed mother. At the moment of his impending death, Jesus wanted to make sure his loving mother was taken care of. He told John, his own beloved disciple: “Behold thy mother!” And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home. (John 19:26-27) Jesus was giving back the love he experienced from his mother.
My own greatest fear
One last piece I want to share with you. For the past few years, when my mother’s health has continued to decline, my older brother would tell me, “Her time is imminent. Maybe she is just waiting for you?” Whenever I hear this, I get shivers down my spine. I know what he is implying.
It is true, among the nine siblings I am the only one who has not visited our mother. For 10 long years.
Now I am beginning to doubt myself. Am I afraid to come and see my mother because I still want her to hang around on this earth? I may not be there to enjoy her presence, but at least 8 of my other siblings, her grandchildren, and great grandchildren, are there to adore her. (I am also aware this means a continuing sacrifice for my older brother and his family. God bless them.)
Would my visit become her final farewell?
LET US CELEBRATE THE GREATEST HUMAN BEING IN OUR LIFE.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY TO ALL MOTHERS IN THE WORLD!
Let us try to emulate all the goodness of our own mother. In remembering our mother, we may all become like mothers to each other.
[All these years, when I miss my mother so much, I turn on the videoke and belt out the song “For Mama” sung by Matt Monro. It gives me a feel of connection with her.]
Now that you have reached this part of this post, this means you are interested to reflect about your own mother. After I have shared the things that make my mother special to me, what about you? What makes your mother special to you?
And if you are a mother yourself, what makes you special?
Share your thoughts by clicking on the underlined Let Me Know Your Thoughts below.
