Today is my mom's birthday. She has been pimping a long time. Here she must have had a five year old son. This is in India. She has moved to many countries with a little boy and kept him raised with good values even though her life may have been filled with abandonment and loss along the way. She made him feel loved, and further, loved him actively; fed him, raised him, laughed with him, defended him, gave him little massages as an infant, fought for him and protected him (sometimes even too much!). She is humble and filled with pride, confused and madly wise, fashionable and unconcerned, loyal and loving and funny. Ma has seen many changes in me, long hair, short hair, fat, skinny - built like He-Man (even if I was just pretending) - and since she had me when she was 18 years old, I have been conscious enough to see her change and evolve.
The way her hair has changed, I love her hair; the way her smile changed, how she looked pudgy, how she looks skinny, how her workouts evolved from "Joggers Park" in India to the Gazelle her neighbor can hear her on (a gift for some occasion). The song Mother from Pink Floyd means more since I have one, as I do have friends that do not have a mother. The idea of how Christ might have thought of Mary is more alive because I have a reference point in my mother. The times she's forgiven me for getting angry from angstyness. The way I hate her apologizing for anything. Her hate of any public forum (she'll probably ask me to remove this). Her droning whine when I do something that reminds her of me as an infant (something I love more than hate). She is the greatest teller of my tale, and one day, when I might have her grandchildren, I'll be that for her. She has always had the biggest piece of my heart, as without her heart beating blood into mine as an embryo, mine would never have been able to grow.
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