Happy Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the mothers out there! Today, we recognize the sacrifices they’ve made to raise us in order to make up for the rest of the days of the year when we do not. I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Mostly.

The fact is that we probably don’t acknowledge everything that our mothers have done for us as much as we should. While I haven’t ever given birth, it certainly doesn’t look like a picnic. Raising children also poses some very different — but no less significant — challenges, and I probably challenged my mother more than most kids do.

It’s not that I was a horrible child. I didn’t set fires to the front lawn or terrorize my sister. From an early age, however, I did show a sense of curiosity that would kindly be called “willful” and more accurately referred to as being “a little slow.”

My first word was “hot,” largely, I imagine, because I didn’t know how to curse. According to canon, my mother was in the middle of cooking dinner. I was lurching around the kitchen the way toddlers do — lurching from countertop to countertop when, at some point, I became fascinated with an electric burner.

Who at that age wouldn’t? Electric burners back then would heat up to an enticing orange glow that practically begged to be investigated. Out of an abundance of caution, my mom warned me off. The words “hot” and “don’t touch” featured prominently in her instructions before she went on to prepare the rest of dinner. You can probably piece the rest of it together for yourself.

I like to think that I’ve changed since I placed my hand on a hot burner and, in many ways, I have. I’m a bit older and a bit wiser. For some reason, however, I still feel compelled to touch a hot plate in a restaurant after being warned, very specifically, by the staff that it shouldn’t be touched.

Some things never change, and thank goodness for that. Of course, I’m not referring to my need to touch objects that may give me a third-degree burn, but my mother. Throughout my life, she has always attempted to guide me as best as she could with patience and understanding. It’s largely because of her that I’m the person I am today. Whether that’s something that she wants to take credit for is an entirely different matter (she probably does), but I am truly grateful for her presence in my life.

About the Author

derekbremer Prior to his life as a stay at home father Derek spent more than a decade performing public relations and marketing functions for financial consulting firms and found the job to be precisely as exciting as it sounds. When not tending to his wife or daughter Derek enjoys subjecting the public to his unique take on fatherhood, travel and animal husbandry. He has been published in Scary Mommy, Sammiches and Psych Meds, The Good Men Project, HowToBeADad, Red Tricycle, RAZED, HPP and the Anthology "It's Really Ten Months Special Delivery: A Collection of Stories from Girth to Birth.