Are you my mother?
When I was young there was a popular childrens’ book entitled, “Are You My Mother?” The gist of the work was a duckling that hatched and quizzed various animals on whether or not they were indeed a parent of the little quacker. The book was based on the work of a man named Lorenz who did extensive work in the area of imprinting. Imprinting is the connection developed at birth to the nearest caregiver. For his study Lorenz nurtured newborn ducks and the feathery twits took him to be their momma. The pictures of the ducks following this man around always brought a smile to my lips. As absurd as it sounds, you can become someone’s mother.
That took me back to Christmas in Broomfield, Colorado this past year. Grandma Jan, my wife’s step-mother, was deemed to be the youngest great grandmother in her church at the Christmas Eve service. Jan claimed to have become a great grandma at the spry age of 63. There were none close to her youthful vigor when it came to the great grandma department. On the ride home I mentally listed her three children and their children. None of her kids were grandparents. I asked her about it and obviously offended her and my wife at the same time. My daughter, Brenna, has two kids and grandma and great grandma were aghast that I had not “grafted them in.”
I admit that I was wrong, but I’m a man and that comes with the territory, right ladies? It brings up a dilemma between the bloodline believers and the grafting group. We all have people in our lives that we graft in and don’t think twice about it. One of my closest friends (he is more like a brother) is Charles Dickerson. We met in basic training for the Air Force in San Antonio, Texas in 1977 and have stayed friends for more than 30 years. The kids all came to know and love “Uncle Chuck.” When Jenna told stories of her uncle, her husband Rich, was intrigued. Jenna went on and on about Uncle Chuck. While looking at photos Rich asked who the tall, slender black man was in the picture. He was a little shocked when Jenna said, “Oh, that’s Uncle Chuck!” She just took the grafting for granted. Just as it should be.
What reminded me of all of this was a phone call this morning from my son, David. He is in the Navy and is deploying to Spain soon. He woke me at 7:30 because the Navy wants their troops to have passports in Spain and he needed information. I gave him the data and then had some coffee. Over my cup of morning “go” I realized that I had errored. It was my “grafting” that may yeild him a rejection on his passport. My wife is not his mother.
I called David back and explained the situation. He shrugged it off, but I gave him the vitals as a back up in case the passport people are bloodline oriented. I was actually dumbfounded at how little my son knows about the woman who gave him birth. His birth mom was pretty much out of our lives since David was six years old. He had no idea how to spell his mother’s name, did not know her middle name, and did not know that she was born in England. He did not know her birthday or the year she was born. For David already had a mom. No, Annie didn’t carry him, but she was everything to him that a mom could and should be. It humbled me as I thought about my “bloodline” analogy in December.
Part of me is sad. David Edward Powers has grown into a strong, confident man. His birth mother would be proud of him. I am glad to not only call him my son, but my friend, as well. When his birth mom began her abysmal slide into the darkness of schizophrenia, she lost contact with the three children she had given life to. Natalie will soon get her P.H.D. at Yale in molecular biology. Annie and I will be there to see Dr. Powers “get hooded”, as they say. Brenna is married to Charles Vincent Arcebuche and lives in Fountain, Colorado. Talon Gage Powers Arcebuche and Lilah Jasmine Powers Arcebuche are the grandchildren that she doesn’t even know exist. Too bad. They’re flat-out wonderful.
So who is your mother? It doesn’t strictly boil down to who gave you birth. Who loved you? Who cares for you? Who meets yor needs? Who nurses you when you’re ill? Who stays up til five in the morning to help finish that blasted science project? Who tucks you in at night and prays with you? The questions can go on and on. The bottom line isn’t Lorenz leading around some ducks. Ask, where is the care? Bloodlines are important, but love trumps all else. Are you my mother? The question need not be asked. Just search your heart and the answer will be crystal clear.