As I sit here on this beautiful day on Mothers Day 2012, I am pondering what it means to be a mom. Not just any mom. What it means to be MY mom.
I got mugged at Gardner when I was 12 by a guy who should have been an upper clansman at Everett, but kept failing. As I got in the car, mom asked, “How was your day son?”
“Well, this guy choked me and held me upside down for my lunch money.”
My mom reacted completely beyond my little expectations.
I got a little scared at this point. She left the car running, left me in the car and ran into the school. I shut the car off, and ran in after her.
My mom is a five foot tall roaring tiger. Don’t mess with my mom.
That same year, I got scarlet fever, and was sick through the entire Christmas Break, and missed six weeks of school. Mom was there for me every day, all day and every night, all night. Helping me eat because my throat was almost swollen shut, helping me with my homework so I wouldn’t fail.
My mom is a physician and tutor.
I remember my awesome cousin Cindi told me one day when I was young that when her mom, Aunt Nancy, told her to clean her room, all she did was shove everything in her closet and chill out for a little while, then when Aunt Nancy would check progress by opening up the door and seeing a clean room, the scam was complete.
I thought, what an awesome idea!
Soooo, when the time for me to clean my room, I shoved everything in my closet.
Mom came in.
Opened my closet.
My mom has hidden cameras…my mom knows.
I got in trouble at church for something…I don’t remember what it was. I was like in middle school or something. She yelled at me that she was going to spank me when she got home.
When we got home, I conjured up bunches of tears and bent over the couch.
“Go ahead, spank me.”
“Nah, you learned your lesson.”
My mom is compassionate.
Angel, my sister, doesn’t hide her opinion. One time, it made for an interesting conversation at the countertop.
Mom: Angel, we fight too much.
Angel: No we don’t.
Mom: I really think we do. We should fight less.
Angel: Mom, we don’t fight too much.
Mom: Yes we do.
Angel: No we don’t.
Mom: Yes we do Angel.
As the argument ensued, I couldn’t help but laugh.
My mom cares about relationships.
We had an outdoor grill attached to the side of the house that was part of the chimney. We decided to burn a bunch of leaves in the grill for some reason, and it turns out that the mortar had a crack in it. It started a slow burn of our house. By a miracle, mom woke up to their room being filled with smoke. She called 911, and ran to my room, ran to my bed, and calmly shook me awake and said in a gentle, calm, loving voice, “Wake up son, the house is on fire.” I smelled all the smoke and yelled something incoherent and ran outside.
My mom is calm under pressure.
I loved my childhood, in large part because of mom. My mom has been there throughout the disaster that was my marriage and beyond it. I could always call her and always get a loving response. Sometimes I hate calling her with bad news because it will make her cry, and I don’t want my mom crying. The last 15 years of my life has been a very difficult journey for me, and she has been there every last step through it, praying for me unceasingly. I am so blessed to have Cathy Ramon as my mom. She is the best mom in the world.
Even though she is a bit short.