So it’s Mother’s Day.  I’m one of the lucky ones.  I still have a mother, alive and kicking.  Many of my contemporaries do not.  My mother has slowed down a bit, but is still in good health and with as many of her faculties intact as one could reasonably expect.  She’s no longer with me, having moved to God’s waiting room.  I speak to her once a week, which is more than I did growing up.

I call her Alta Caca.  She doesn’t find me amusing.  But then, it really isn’t a joke.  Other than complaining about things she can’t control, she’s relatively happy.  Even at her age, she’s trying to fight.  Other people are old.  Not her.  I get a kick out of it, though I tell her that it’s okay to enjoy herself at her age.  She doesn’t care. 

My children have a mother too.  She works very hard, far harder than I do.  I realize it.  Plus, she supervises me.  Everything I do requires her detailed supervision, or I would likely get it wrong.  This must take a lot out of her.  I’ve told her that she really doesn’t have to oversee everything I do, but she disagrees. 

Mother’s Day, like Father’s Day, like Arbor Day, doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.  We live our lives everyday.  If I don’t appreciate you on Tuesday, why should I give you a card and make you breakfast in bed on Sunday?  And if I do appreciate you the rest of the year, does this day change anything? 

But I’m an oddball on these things.  I’m told I lack sentimentality (amongst other things).  Most people must like Mother’s Day a lot, because I see in mentioned in advertisements everywhere.  Retailers wouldn’t mention it if it didn’t mean anything to people. 

I’m not one to give gifts on Mother’s Day.  Or Birthdays. Or a lot of other days either.  Whenever I see anything I think my wife would enjoy, I get it and give it to her right away.  I wasn’t reared with the idea that giving gifts for their own sake was a worthwhile.  Why give somebody something they neither want nor need because Hallmark makes you feel guilty?  And why withhold a gift just because the calendar doesn’t have a red number on the date? 

I was taught this by my Mother, the Alta Caca.  She told me not to bother getting chatchkes.  It was a waste of money, and she knew that I loved her anyway.  Mind you, nothing with the words “Louis Vuitton” on it qualified as a chatchke, but that was certainly way beyond my reach and grasp as a kid.

My wife was raised differently.  Special days always called for a special gift.  She knows now that the “special gifts” weren’t really special, or particularly desired for that matter, but the important thing was to have a gift.  Now she tells me that she needs nothing when I ask.  I know she’s lying to me.  She drops hints.  I never get them, so I have no clue what she wants.  She refuses to just tell me.  So I still don’t know. 

I’ve explained to her that I would be thrilled to get her anything her heart desires.  She doesn’t care.  What matters is that I figure out exactly what she truly wants on my own and get it for her.  If she has to tell me, then it doesn’t count.  It has to be a surprise.  It’s a test.  I’ve failed miserably, year after year.  I’ll fail again this year.

My mother, the Alta Caca, is no longer of the view that it’s silly to buy gifts for special days as a matter of sentimentality.  Now she wants them.  I’ve explained this to my father, who doesn’t seem terribly concerned.  He’s settled into old age more gracefully than my mother, and has learned to wield it like a club.  He conveniently forgets such things when necessary, and nobody doubts him.  He’s a funny guy.  I’ve learned much from him.

I wish all mothers Happy Mother’s Day.  I hope you have someone to show you their appreciation for all you do, and who is better at it than I am.  But even though I may not be good about showing it, I appreciate my mother and the mother of my children.  Especially the latter, without whom I could not survive.  I would buy her a really good gift, if only I could think of something.  I have to go now and make pancakes.