WHAT CAN WE DO FOR MAMA

By Edwin Cooney

With Mother’s Day approaching, I was wondering what I could do to make Mama know how special she really is. As everyone knows, the best place to straighten out one’s confusion about any topic is to visit one’s local watering hole and there converse with the really wise and knowledgeable.

So, just the other day I visited mine and there, as usual, were my two buddies Lunkhead and Dunderhead.

“Ya know,” I said as I took my usual seat between them at the bar, “Mother’s Day is coming up this Sunday. Two years ago I sent her flowers and last year I gave her one of those Vermont Teddy Bears. Any clothing or jewelry she has must come from my father. So, I’ll be damned if I know what else to do to let her know how special she is.”

“Well,” said Lunkhead, “you could buy her a lottery ticket and put it inside a homemade card and, even if she doesn’t win the lottery, she’ll at least have evidence of your love, loyalty, and creativity.”

“Ah, that’s no good,” Dunderhead responded. “I tried that a couple of years ago. I bought a lottery ticket that actually got me fifty bucks and instead of keeping it myself, I put it in a homemade Mother’s Day card and gave it to my Mama. But even when she found out it was a winner, she wouldn’t turn it in because it was part of her Mother’s Day card. She said, ‘I’m not going to give the government any part of my favorite son’s Mother’s Day card, even if I do get fifty dollars. The government already gets enough out of your father and me!’”

“Well,” replied Lunkhead, “Aside from the fact that you’re her only son, which automatically makes you her favorite son, your story rings pretty true for a change, Dunderhead. The more I spend on my mother each year, the more embarrassed she gets. Now, it’s different when it comes to my wife. If I buy anything cheap or repetitive for her on Mother’s Day or any other day, believe me she notices -- even if it’s supposed to be a gift from our son.”

“I know what you mean,” said Dunderhead after swallowing a large sip of his beer, “but that’s because she’s your wife, not your mother. I’ll bet she doesn’t even really like your mother, I know my wife doesn’t like my mother at all.”

“Yeh,” Lunkhead replied, “my wife is always complaining that my mother makes too many excuses for me, but as for liking her, actually, I think my wife feels sorry for my mother.” Lunkhead stirred the ice in his drink with his swizzle stick.

“I understand,” Dunderhead shot back, “I’m with your wife. I feel sorry for your mother, too.”

“You mean, fellows,” I asked, “the very same woman acts differently as a wife than she does as a mother?”

“Of course!” Dunderhead replied impatiently. “Our daughter could give my wife a couple of colored balloons with “Happy Mother’s Day” on the side and she’d think it was a splendid present. On the other hand, my mother wouldn’t cash in her winning lottery ticket a couple of years ago, but you can be sure that if my father had given her the ticket, she’d have turned it in in “a New York minute.”

“Wait a minute, guys!” I exclaimed, “Do you mean that wives appreciate their children, but not their husbands?”

“No,” said Lunkhead, “Wives appreciate their husbands, especially if a husband goes all out to please his wife, but she appreciates her child differently.”

“That’s right,” Dunderhead responded, “Lunkhead shows much wisdom here for a change. Motherhood is the greatest opportunity any woman has to be of wholehearted service and therefore she protects that opportunity to serve no matter how much it costs her. The danger in celebrating Mother’s Day, especially when you’re a struggling adult, is that you can easily overdo it. If Mama thinks you’re spending too much money on her, you can definitely ruin her Mother’s Day. The best thing you can do for your mother is to reassure her that you’re happy and that you’re you.”

“Is that so,” I mumbled.

“Exactly,” said Lunkhead, “I know a couple of mothers who, believe it or not, are actually embarrassed about being made too much of on Mother’s Day. Most mothers appreciate presents and you can go ahead and send them flowers or candy, but your very existence is the greatest gift they’ve ever received.”

“That’s right,” Dunderhead chimed in, “no human being loves you like your mother, even if you’ve grown up to become a lawyer, a politician, or an overpaid professional sports figure.”

“Wow,” I said, “Mothers sure are wonderfully thoughtful, kind, and understanding, aren’t they!”

“They are,” said Lunkhead, “but don’t let ‘em catch you without your coat!”

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,

EDWIN COONEY