Happy Mother's Day -OR- Who Am I? (Part 2)

(suggested music pairing:  I'll Always Love My Mama - The Intruders)

In my last post, I started to dive into the question of “who am I?” in terms of race and family background. This is answer #2:

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  

As with most sons, we try to downplay things like emotions and feelings and compassion, but I had no choice. I am one of the most compassionate, emotional, “in touch with my feelings” men I know, and I blame/give credit to my mom for that. And the older I get, the more I realize that isn’t something to run away from, but to cherish. It adds to my uniqueness.  It is a big part of who I am today – and really, who I want to continue to be.

My mom was a mom to everyone, which I’ve also realized over the years is kind of special. Growing up, my friends and the friends of my sisters and brother were all gathered in the big bear hug that is my mom.  And over the recent years on Facebook, as I’ve gotten in touch with some of my sister’s friends, usually one of the very first things they say is how great my family was and how caring my mom was to them.  

My mom (and her family) had a tough childhood…probably not much different from any other poor black/Cape Verdean family growing up in the 50’s…but still tough. And as with most parents, their main goal is to raise their kids to “have it better than they did.”  That was definitely echoed often growing up.  As I mentioned in my last post, my parents met and married in New Bedford MA and moved to Philadelphia where my dad found a job. We lived In Philadelphia. North Philly. From what I understand, we lived there until I was roughly two years old, when my parents moved out to Phoenixville, into a two-bedroom apt. We lived there for four years until they bought their first house on Bridge Street in town, where we lived for twelve years. We then moved just outside of town, where my parents still live. That whole progression was made possible by the hard consistent work of my dad (there will be a Father’s Day post), and my mom raising us during the day while working weekend nights as a nurse. That lasted until we were all in school and old enough to where she could switch to work full-time days.  As an adult, when I think about all that, now that I can understand the context of all that, it’s amazing. And yet, it’s all under the “just being a mom” context.

As I said, I get my compassion and emotionality (if that is a word) from my mom. I get my patience from my mom. I get my caregiver side (including the part where I get involved more than I should!) from her. And I wouldn’t want things any other way. Which to me is the ultimate validation.