You know, friends, I drag holidays out as long as possible - I mean we celebrate our birthdays for a whole month, right? And do I need to remind you that retailers haul out their Christmas merchandise in August? Having said that, here are some thoughts for this "Week of Mothers Day:"
I so dislike stating the obvious, but everybody has (or has had) a mother. There's just no other way of getting here, folks. And while most mothers nurture, in some heartbreaking instances it's the other way around because let's face it: there are some pretty flaky gals out there. In those cases one can only hope a teacher, a family member - someone - will cross that child's path and intervene. But it wasn't until a few years ago that I heard a name for this phenomenon. The word is "othermother," and no - that isn't a typo.
The word was originated by Patricia Hill Collins, author of an astounding work entitled "Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness and the Politics of Empowerment." I read this book a few years ago when taking a course in women's studies at San Jose State. One of Collins' theories explained a pattern of mothering and "othermothering" within the Black community that stimulated what Collins calls "a more generalized ethic of care where Black women feel accountable to all the Black community's children…(and treat them) as if they were members of their own families."
For me that term, "othermother," conjures up recollections from back in the day when it was typical for women, not our mothers, to look after other women's kids. If we were playing at a friend's house and scraped a knee, that friend's mom swabbed the wound, dabbed on a puddle of nasty, stinging iodine and slapped a Band-Aid over the top. We might have even gotten a warm hug out of it. It was nice knowing there was another maternal being standing in for Mom when she wasn't handy.
Now this is not to say that moms today would let some poor kid bleed to death. But hasn't the world changed a lot since those "good old days" when kids knew all was well because there was another mom on standby? I mean - these days you never know if intervening to help a youngster will offend someone or if coming to the aid of a child will result in getting yourself sued for Pete's sake. And I'll tell you, I miss the way things used to be.
An "othermother" didn't have to be family, although often times they were. Sometimes these othermothers handed out discipline along with the hugs. My dad had a large family - lots of brothers and sisters. It was great being a kid around all those cousins but you knew you had to mind your manners when adult company was in the vicinity because there was usually an aunt nearby wielding a flyswatter that stung like the dickens if you acted up. And there was nobody faster with a flyswatter than my aunt Thelma. A mother with five kids of her own, she was a natural "othermother" at family functions. There'd be Aunt Thelma, flyswatter in one hand and a big ice-cold tumbler of sweet tea in the other, rivulets of condensation streaming down the sides of the glass. I swear the woman had eyes in the back of her head: no sooner had you snatched a coveted plastic shovel from your younger cousin than - Whap! There'd be Aunt Thelma with that blasted flyswatter reminding you and your stinging backside that such a thing as wrestling away another kid's toy wasn't the greatest idea in the world.
Of all my aunts, my mother's sister was my favorite. I was nine when my brother came along and he was such a holy terror that he took all of my mother's energy and attention, leaving me feeling like I'd been orphaned. If it hadn't been for my aunt Ruby, I don't know what would have become of me. She had an endless supply of hugs, hot chocolate and funny stories that made me feel like the most special kid in the world. I know she never heard the term "othermother" and most certainly never realized she was one but she was a natural.
Grandmothers are an innate substitute for a mom and probably the original othermothers. One of the greatest rewards is when your son or daughter has a first baby and calls on you for help. When I became a "Grammy" for the first time last June, I stepped back because I felt it was better to be asked than start making assumptions that the new parents couldn't live without my aid. So when the call came from a fragile and exhausted new mom, I was on a plane the next day. Gingerly carrying baby Gracie like she was a volatile chunk of kryptonite set to explode at any second, my firstborn was worn out and overwhelmed by her new role of mommy. In a few days she was back on her feet, joining the ranks of a special club called "Mommy-dom."
Now the great thing about this othermother business - especially as a grandparent - is that it's a role you can step into and then retreat from for a time. It's like being a parent again - once removed. Being a mom brings mammoth responsibility - being a Grammy brings the fun and the freedom to have a tea party in the backyard or blow bubbles with a precious little one and leave the discipline and duties of parenting to, well - the parents!
So this week of Mothers Day I pray that my daughter and granddaughter have long, full lives ahead filled with love, joy and a host of good-hearted "othermothers." But most of all I'm grateful for my granddaughter's birth, which closed another of those big circles of life. You know, the one where I, a compassionate observer, watched my daughter begin her journey a worried young woman who gave birth to a little baby girl. And then became a mom.
Gale Hammond Gale Hammond is a writer and freelance photographer who has lived in Morgan Hill 24 years. Reach her at GaleHammond@aol.com.
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