Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Mothers and Sons

My younger brother put on a concert for our family at the big reunion "Palooza" we had this past weekend, as I mentioned in my post yesterday. He always brings his guitar to family gatherings and plays for us, in a casual sort of way; but this was the first time he set up all of the professional equipment he uses when he has legitimate "gigs," and the whole thing was just phenomenal. He had a bunch of adoring fans in the audience that night, but no one more so than his mommy.

That's my mother gazing on proudly at her son, with her chair pulled right up next to the stage. (She started out there, but eventually moved back and sat with the rest of the riff raff in the cheap seats.)

My mother adores my brother, as you can plainly see when you look at these photos, and she's so proud of him. Actually, she's half in love with both of my brothers, but I think that's the way it is with most mothers of sons--at least from my experience. We moms love our boys. My older brother, the oldest of Mom's children, likes to joke that this talented musician son is Mom's "favorite"; but then my younger brother will counter that no, it is in fact Mom's oldest child who is the one she calls "Precious." I, for one, think it's a tie. They're both her favorites, just like all of my five boys are my favorites.

When I first moved here, I met a gal whose husband worked with mine and we became friends. Her husband had grown up in a family of four brothers and no sisters. When her mother-in-law heard that I, too, had four sons (this was before my baby came along!), she gave me a framed copy of this poem that she'd always had hanging in her house. It is so sweet and poignant, and I thought I'd share it with you. (You might want to grab a hankie first.)


To press my lips
Upon a fair cheek, or a brow,
Of my young sons--
So long I have stooped down;

But suddenly today to my surprise,
I find that I must lift my eyes
To meet their eyes;
That I must stand on toe tips
And reach up
To kiss their lips.
These tall young sons--
Each straight as any pine--
Can they be mine?

Soon I must share them,
Soon I know that they must go.
But O, I am so glad
That I have had
Small sons to stoop to,
Tall sons to reach to,
Clean sons to give
That other sons may live.

(Author Unknown)

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