Our greater respect for traditionally female values and skill sets has opened a door for deeper mother-son relationships.
—
I had a wonderful Mother and a masculine culture that kept getting in our way. Of all of the derogatory cuss words in the profanity-laced conversations of boys and young men, the one that suggests a boy is way too close to his mother is amongst the most provocative. This term is often used to express significant generic anger. More specific terms in this regards, when I was growing up, included “momma’s boy” or “tied to his mother’s apron strings”, or “unable to cut the umbilical cord”. I don’t recall having such terms applied to me very often. Like most boys I knew, I worked hard on not thinking or acting like I had a thing for my mother.
My mother strove to teach me culinary arts. Unfortunately that was women’s work, so I wasn’t interested.
|
I was close to my mother before I was born and for several years after that. It occurred to me quite early in life however that I was put quite different than my mother. At first I was real vague on the details of the differences. That it was very important to know that there was a difference was quite clear. Much of my early socialization was devoted to understanding that I was to do things like my Father and not like girls.
◊♦◊
I grew up in a very loving, child-focused home. My Father worked and provided for the family. My mother was a “housewife.” Dad played with me and my brother and sister and taught us things. Most of the heavy lifting of child guidance was by my mother. It was a very common set up in the 1950’s and 60’s.
My mother had a masters degree in nutrition and experience teaching at the college level. She cheerfully gave up her career to be a loving mother. She prepared delicious, nutritious meals, served with a flair. My birthday parties were themed and creative. My mother made clothes and did crafts. She was good at house cleaning and gardening. We lived in a small town where my father was employed at a small college. My mother used to go to a club called “Faculty Dames” to learn crafts. She used to go to meeting of the Association of University Women. You needed to have a college degree and be female to be a member. They didn’t make anything. They just talked. I had no idea why she went there. When my mother co-founded and was the first president of the local chapter of a new organization, called the League of Women Voters, I knew what they did.
My mother strove to teach me culinary arts. Unfortunately that was women’s work, so I wasn’t interested. She gave expert advice on good nutrition which I mostly rejected as missing the point of eating. She was eager to show me how to do needle work and how to cook. I thought she had to be kidding. I was stuck with some household chores and resisted my mothers efforts to embrace quality control elements to these duties. I pulled weeds and moved dirt to help her with gardening, but I let it be known that I didn’t have to like it.
◊♦◊
Fortunately for me, my Mother wasn’t pushy or needy. My rejection of her instruction opportunities weren’t outwardly resented. I was left to reap the benefits of good eating and artistic interior decor on a budget. As an adult, I remember expressing my gratitude to my mother for her creative and devoted domestic services. Her reply shocked me. She told me that when she started to raise children, it was as if she had descended into a “dark tunnel,” that she had difficulty describing. She hadn’t anticipated what a loss turning her back on her career would be.
I am grateful for the times that I struggled through my resistance to her feminine voice and embraced her suggestions.
I was rather heavy in junior high school and at the same time good in a sprint. My coach thought I should try out for the High school football team the next year. My father was a quarterback when he was in high school. I shared the proud news of the coaches opinion with my mother first. She looked pained and replied that I needed to be aware that she knew many men who suffered long after their high school graduations with old football injuries. I didn’t ask my father for a second opinion. He didn’t offer one. I didn’t try out for the team. Now in my 60’s I have some aches and pains, none of them football injury related.
◊♦◊
Growing up my Mother took myself and my sister and brother to a Baptist Church. At this church, children would introduce themselves by including the date that they accepted Jesus Christ as their savior. The King James translation of the Bible was the word of God. Baptism was available to me around the age of 12 but not until I could feel, Jesus, “knocking on my heart.” I waited impatiently for the knock. Everlasting life and manhood were at stake. I refused to fake it. One glorious Sunday morning, after a particularly moving sermon, I finally felt it. When the minister asked the congregation if there was anyone who felt moved to accept Jesus Christ as their savior at that time, I knew he was talking to me. As I began to rise from the pew, I felt the sudden downward thrust of my mothers hand on my leg. I was shocked, but quickly decided she must have some inside information and slumped back into the pew.
When I was about to be eligible for military conscription, my mother thought that it would be a good idea if I petitioned the Draft Board for Conscientious Objector status.
|
My mother told me on the way home that she had decided to start going to the Quaker Meeting that my father attended. My father never expressed his opinion as to this move, but since my family had done everything else together, besides church, I didn’t question my mother’s suggestion that I delay signing up for everlasting life. After attending my first Quaker meeting I was invited to join the men of the meeting for a discussion of a Bible passage as presented by six different translations of the Bible. There was no immortality guarantee. I developed a lifelong faith in the questioning.
◊♦◊
My father was at Pearl Harbor when the bombs rained down. He was assigned to keep the electronics that guided anti-aircraft guns functional for the rest of the war. He saw a good deal of combat. Didn’t talk about it much. When I was about to be eligible for military conscription, my mother thought that it would be a good idea if I petitioned the Draft Board for Conscientious Objector status. Quakers had long history of pacifism and Quaker’s were typically granted CO status without much hassle. I had come to the conclusion that the Vietnam was wasn’t such a good idea, but the Draft board was insistent that you couldn’t pick and choose your wars. It had to be an all or nothing objection to combat. I remember telling my mother that I thought that the Revolutionary War, for example, was a necessary evil to advance a good cause. My mother suggested I study the history of Canada and then talk to her some more. When I informed my Father that I had been granted CO status, he told me that he thought that was very good news.
My mother, who was not prone to anger, told my father what he could do with his resentment.
|
When her children were grown. My Mother decided that it was time for her to look for the light at the end of the tunnel. She decided it was time to get special education certification and go back to teaching. My Father let her know that her employment would mean that he was an inadequate provider and he resented the insinuation. My mother, who was not prone to anger, told my father what he could do with his resentment.
◊♦◊
Times have changed. More women are employed then are men. More when then men are entering college, graduating from college and are earning advanced degrees. More men are cooking, cleaning, caring for young children. More men find war to be not as glorious as it used to be. Religious organizations that confine women to lessor roles are in decline. Sports based on violence are beginning to be questioned. Respect for traditionally female values and skills sets are ascendant. More boys are feeling their connections to their mothers. Connections that are preparing them for the cultural climate change of female empowerment. May each Mother’s Day be happier than the last for boys and men.
—
Photo: Getty Images
Oh my …. I have to take some time to get my mind around this. “Pro-feminist that works with men… Wow
“Of all of the derogatory cuss words in the profanity-laced conversations of boys and young men, the one that suggests a boy is way too close to his mother is amongst the most provocative. This term is often used to express significant generic anger. More specific terms in this regards, when I was growing up, included “momma’s boy” or “tied to his mother’s apron strings”, or “unable to cut the umbilical cord”. I don’t recall having such terms applied to me very often.” ____________________________ Daddy’s little girl, a Daddy’s girl, Daddy’s little princess. See, the problem when we inundate males… Read more »
Part Deux “Times have changed. More women are employed then are men. More when then men are entering college, graduating from college and are earning advanced degrees. ” _____________________ And we don’t see that as a problem, but a goal? Funny how that works when we inundate our men with guilt and shame. Everything becomes skewed. We rally when our girls are behind, we create such as title IV and affirmative action, but when our boys are suffering, we cheer, yell, “you go grrl”, and set ourselves up for what is about to happen. A whole new group of oppressed… Read more »