Mamma's boy and proud of it

Being called a mamma’s boy was never a good thing.
For those of the masculine adolescent persuasion, it was one of the biggest put-downs you could receive.
I know. I got called that a lot.
Growing up, I was much closer to my mother than my father. She was the one who was always there for me and my two younger brothers. Dad was too, but the connection wasn’t the same. Dad was the enforcer – the one who made sure chores got done, spankings dolled out when needed and boys kept in line.
Mom on the other hand was the one I could turn to for anything. She was the “yes man” that Dad never seemed to be. Nothing against Dad, but Mom was the one who said yes most often.
More ice cream? Yes.
May friends come over? Yes.
Can we go to the movies? Yes.
More than that, Mom was the organizer of the family. Between Cub Scouts, youth sports, school events, church activities, doctor and dentist visits and the like, she was the one who kept the household moving. And she did it cheerfully with love and grace in equal measure.
As a child, I took her for granted. I assumed she did what every mother did for their children. She was the deal, model mother. It was natural for me to gravitate to her. I guess being called a momma’s boy – no matter how insulting – was accurate.
It wasn’t until I got much older that I began relating more with my father. It was hard at first because he is very mechanically inclined. His garage would put Sears to shame. This man is all about tools.
I can never remember which way to turn a wrench. I’m not big on cars – I see them as a necessary evil. I would have preferred to draw pictures and write stories than get my hands dirty under the hood of a car.
Once I got my license and a car, I suddenly had more of a need for my father. We also grew closer through Boy Scouts and a love for football. But through all of that, Mom was the one I could always turn to and confide in. She nurtured my hopes and dreams, fixed my owies, cooked my meals, slipped me cash for dates and gas, and, most importantly, she prayed for me.
Never underestimate the power of a praying woman. After 35 years of praying and pleading, she got Dad to commit his life to Christ. I had the honor and privilege of baptizing him. It was one of the proudest moments of our lives.
Now that I’m grown, married and have my own family, I find that I relate more to my father. But I still love Mom and appreciate her more than ever. The same goes for my wife, Sandy. She does a remarkable job taking care of our four children (our three sons and my daughter from my previous marriage who is with us during the summer).
She is the glue that holds the family together. She is the one who runs kids to Scouts, church, doctor appointments and such. She is the household manager or domestic goddess or whatever you call it these days. I admire and respect the job she does just as much as I did my own mother.
There is much I can learn from these two strong influences in my life. And if that makes me a momma’s boy, so be it.
This Sunday is Mother’s Day. My mother and father will celebrate it in Omaha with Mom’s 91-year-old mother. I will spend it with the mother of my children. I hope that everyone will take some time to show love and respect to their mother, not just this weekend, but always.
To my grandmother, mother, mother-in-law, sisters-in-law and my wife, I want to wish each of you all the best and a very special and joyous Mother’s Day. You deserve it!