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Mother’s Day: a rambling exploration in search of a point.
So it’s Mother’s Day. Apparently. This is the one day of the year where I can be grateful that I no longer have a mother, so I can avoid taking part in yet another shallow, commercialised extravaganza masquerading as quality family time. Christmas is bad enough. At least for this one I can sit back, feeling quietly superior as the malls fill up with desperate fools hoping to buy their way out of another year of parental neglect while retailers frolic in their giant pools of cash.
I know, I know; I’m being unnecessarily cynical, you may well say. You don’t have to buy into the unfettered exchange of material goods to honour the contribution that your mother has made to shaping the person you’ve become. Most mums would be chuffed with a visit or a call (if you’re out of town) just to let them know that they’re being thought of and appreciated. No need for flamboyant displays of wealth to let them know you love them. (It’s not an 8-year-old’s birthday party, after all.)
This is true. However, as far as I can tell, it is only effective if it exists in contrast to what you normally do. Whatever your baseline relationship with your mother, you’re expected to turn up the volume on it, arbitrarily, for one day of the year. If you’re a neglectful SOB who only calls home when you need money then, yeah, a five-minute phone call will probably make the poor woman’s week. But what do you do if you’re one of those people whose mother is their BFF? How do you kick it up a notch then? Buy them a fancy meal? Take them out partying? Well, yeah, but you’re falling back on that commercial imperative again. And besides, if you’ve got a good relationship with your mum, then why make a big deal out of it one specific day?
Sounding feeble? Yeah, to be honest, I’m struggling to even convince myself here, despite the delight I take in holding a contrary point of view, so you Mother’s Day devotees are not obviously not going to have much truck with my attempts to ruin your day. Instead, let’s move into the realm of fiction to see if that yields any unexpected truths…
Since my own mother is no longer with us, I feel entitled to stand in for her in fictional form. Please note, this is not a reasonable characterisation of my mother in any way, but nothing more than my own alter ego doing what it does best — arguing back for the sake of it.
So then, a hypothetical Mother’s Day phone conversation:
MUM
Hello?
ME
Mum, how’s it going? Happy Mother’s Day.
MUM
Oh yeah, it’s just another day, isn’t it.
ME
No, Mum, this is your day. It’s Mother’s Day.
MUM
How does that work? I still had to do my own dishes this morning. Not something I’d do if it was “my day”.
ME
Well, you know, we’re supposed to, like, honour you and shit.
MUM
Right. Is that what this is then?
ME
Yeah. This is me, just saying, thanks for being my Mum.
MUM
Why today?
ME
It’s Mother’s Day.
MUM
So?
ME
So, that’s when everyone takes time out to remember their mother.
MUM
What, so you forgot about me till now? Is that it?
ME
No, of course not. But today’s the day we’re supposed to make a thing of it.
MUM
Says who?
ME
I don’t know. “They” do.
MUM
Who’s “they”?
ME
I don’t know. Everyone.
MUM
Right. So because “everyone” is ringing their mother today, you feel like you have to follow the crowd and join in? Not because you, perhaps, actually want to talk to me. Is that it?
ME
No, of course not. I just thought…
MUM
No, Carl, you didn’t think, that’s always your problem. If “everyone” was jumping off the harbour bridge, would you do that too?
ME
Ok, first of all, there’s no reasonable reason why everyone would do such a stupid thing, so your argument doesn’t work. If there’s a particular behaviour that the vast majority of people engage in then there must, on some level, be a sensible explanation for it, and I’m afraid that mass suicide doesn’t cut it. Secondly, can’t you cut me a bit of slack here? I’m trying to do something nice for you, so can we ease up on the second-guessing of my every motivation?
MUM
Well, it’s just that I could have done with some help last week, when I had to make extra meals for Mrs Blennerhassett down the road whose husband has just died, while finishing off three reports for my committee, not to mention your bloody brother and the unending world of hurt he brings. But no, it wasn’t “Mother’s Day”, it was obviously “Do-Whatever-The-Fuck-Carl-Wants” day, so I had to wait till the Official Moment, when “everyone” decreed that you should fire a thought or two my way to assuage a years’ worth of guilt-ridden neglect.
ME
Come on, Mum, that’s not fair. I call you all the time. Well, often, at least. And not just when I want something — I know that’s what you were going to say next.
MUM
Well then, if you call me “all the time”, what’s so special about today? How is this any different to any other Sunday afternoon?
ME
Er… I’m not hung over? I don’t know. Um, it’s Mother’s Day, come on.
MUM
For crying out loud, boy, I didn’t raise you to resort to circular reasoning like that. And I’ve told you time and time again, the “come on” defence will not stand in this house.
ME
But I’m not in your house. Ha, got you there!
MUM
Don’t get lippy with me. It’s accepted that, for legal purposes, a premises can be extended virtually to include any electronic communication rendered therein, regardless of the physical origin of said discourse. Go ask your sister if you don’t believe me; she’s a lawyer.
ME
Um, not sure about that one, Mum, but whatever. Good to see you’re still in fine form, though.
MUM
Too right. You’re not putting me out to pasture quite yet.
ME
Definitely. Always a pleasure to chat. Anyway…
MUM
Is that it? We’ve barely got past the pleasantries.
ME
But what pleasant pleasantries they were.
MUM
Okay, darling, but don’t leave it too long next time.
ME
Of course. I’m not just going to ring you because it’s the socially correct time to do so. I’d never be so foolish.
MUM
Good boy.
ME
Happy Mother’s Day.
MUM
Fuck Mother’s Day.
ME
Yeah, fuck Mother’s Day. Love you.
MUM
Love you, too, honey.
Okaaaay. I really must stress — nothing like my real mother. I do wonder what she’d make of such nonsense. She did provide half my genes, but I think it’s fair to say it was the kinder, more human half, rather than the pedantic, obsessive, argumentative, must-be-right-at-all-costs half. Oh, and the skinny legs and the Roman nose — cheers for that, Mum. I often wish you’d seen what kind of people we’ve grown up to be. I hope you’d be proud. I know we’d have a lot to argue about but, in our madcap family, we’d probably have a hell of a good time doing it. Miss you, and Happy Mother’s Day.
P.S. Think I’m being a cynical douchebag? Unnecessarily raining on everyone’s Mother’s Day parade? Probably. But just you wait for the vitriol I unleash come Fathers’ Day. Oh yes.
