In celebration of moms who say "Yes."

Mother's Day is coming up. Since it is the same weekend as my boys' birthday, it's likely to get short shrift.
So I thought I'd post a little something now about my Mom.

There are a lot of things I could say about her: she's an amazing homemaker, a fabulous teacher, an accomplished career woman, a fantastic cook, beautiful, (see photo above) smart, fashionable, handy, crafty, loyal, kind and hard-working. She sets a wonderful example for me, my two sisters (and two brothers, for that matter) and her grandchildren. I'm proud of her every day.


But the thing that impresses me the most about her is her strength. My mother is the strongest woman I know.

Let me tell you a little story about her:

When she discovered she was pregnant with me at 18, her stepfather, not condoning her unmarried state, kicked her out of the house. It was the early 1970s and he was old-school.

She was a student on a full scholarship at Tufts University in Boston, with no money, no place to live and a baby on the way. She had very few options. Some people suggested she "get rid" of her "situation." And if she did, who would've blamed her? I'm pro-choice myself, so I can understand her dilemma.

But my mother decided to do the harder thing. She decided to say "Yes" to this gift that had been handed to her unexpectedly. She decided to be a mother.

She dropped out of school, moved in with a family friend. She applied for a job that required she have a car. She lied and said she had one. Somehow she pulled together enough money to buy something barely drivable, but good enough to get her to work and back. It was a 5-speed, which she didn't know how to drive. Over the weekend, she taught herself, with the help of friends, to drive it. That's how determined she was to be able to support herself and me.

She worked hard, and finally got an apartment of her own. She took care of me by herself until she and my Dad -- who had reunited six years later -- got married and moved to Washington, D.C. Just the two of us, me and my Mom, we had a wonderful life. We were dirt poor, but I never knew it. Our house was warm and clean and full of things a little girl wants -- Barbies and doll houses and Lite Brite, spaghetti and chocolate pudding and endless games of "I Declare War."

I can't imagine how hard those years must have been for her, first as a homeless, pregnant teen, and then a single mother whose dreams of a college education had just been obliterated.

But all I remember growing up is love. I remember making Jell-o pudding on the stove in the little kitchen in the apartment on East Concord Street with her. And her letting me wash the dishes, with a plastic trash bag tied around my body to keep me from soaking my clothes. I remember my little bedroom, with the pink canopy bed and little wooden table and chair set. I remember her coating my face in Calamine lotion when I had the chicken pox, and us pretending to be Indians, all painted for war. I remember watching "Happy Days" with her, and begging to stay up past my bedtime to watch "Laverne and Shirley." I remember her saying, "Yes."

How strong my mother must have been to have made the decisions she made. The decisions that brought me into this world and helped make me the person I am. What inner resolve and tenacity. What courage. I don't know that, given similar circumstances, I would have been so able.

When I was a cub reporter in my early 20s, working at The Kansas City Star, a co-worker gave me the best compliment I've ever received. She told me that a friend she'd introduced me to told her later, "Tanika is the kind of person who you can tell never doubted for one minute that she was loved."

That stuck with me in such a profound way. I'd never thought about it that way, but it was so true. No matter her circumstances -- even when it was a detriment to her own personal success or desires -- my mother put her love for me first. And she continues to do that for me and my siblings today.

I am so lucky that I have a mother who, when the world was telling her "No," she chose to say "Yes."

 

I love you, Mom! And I strive to be like you: the kind of mother whose children will one day project to the world that they never for one minute doubted that they were loved.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Tahira! Happy Birthday, Aminah!!!