(...)
I like to imagine that my grandparents
were always progressive, tolerant people in favor of things we now take for
granted, but I know that’s probably wishful thinking. I’m not even sure about
myself in this regard. Fortunately, we humans are incessant editors, never
happy with the first draft of anything. This tendency towards revision can
cause problems, though. For example, most memories I have of my daughter as a
baby have been systematically and irrationally replaced by a mental image of
how she appears now—an eight-year-old—because I simply can’t believe she was
ever so small. In fact, when she was born, one of my friends, while cradling
her fragile seven pounds, couldn’t believe it then, saying, “God, why don’t we
just die the second we’re born? We’re so delicate and vulnerable!” My wife’s
mother, who was visiting, didn’t miss a beat: “It’s mothers, honey. It’s our
job to make sure that never happens.” Well, score one for Moms, I thought.
(...)
So, a final draft: happy Mothers’ Day,
moms. We are grateful to, and love, you all.
Chris Ware *
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