A Minor Tribute to a Major Influence.

MiC.

Thank you for that little bit of info about "Mother's Day".  I kinda figured that there was more to this day of honour than some sappy card giving thing.  As you can tell, I am not into sappy things.  I would rather have beauty, and peace to me is beautiful. 

Speaking of Cindy Sheehan though, I may not agree with the way she grieves (mainly because I think grieving is private) but no one has the right to tell a mother how to greive her child's death.  Everyday, mothers all over this nation pick up the paper and go straight to the war section.  They cringe when they see that a soldier has lost his life.  They reluctantly read on to find out the details.  They find the command unit, where the incident occured, how it happened, where the soldier was from.  Whne the information does not match what she knows about her child's deployment, she is relieved.  She also unfortunatly understands that another mother will open the paper to the ultimate pain.  No one, except a mother in this situation can understand the stress of every hour worring about her child who is in constant danger of loosing his life.  No Mrs. Bush, you do not know either. 

I just want to say that perhaps Woodrow Wilson understood something.  Perhaps his mother taught him through her "gentle touch" that the way to world peace is through mom.  You see, from the moment the child leaves the womb, the mother embraces him at the breast.  She sings praises to God, and prays for a long happy, proserous life as he takes his nurishment.  As he grows, she teaches him independance, and yet coddles him to show him that he is loved and a part of something bigger...a family...a community...a world.  She teaches him prayers, and shows him God's will for him.  She teaches him to respect others, and give all the dignity they deserve as creations of the most high.  She teaches him to ask first whether he would like something done to him before he does it to another.  She teaches him not to oppress others, and that he has the right to defend himself if others try and oppress him, and the wisdom to pick the right battles, and to avoid violence at all costs.  And yet, the coddling goes on, just to let him know that he is a part of something bigger than himself.

We stress as they move forward in their growth from boyhood to manhood.  Every step, where he seperates himself from his mother's arms is a trying time for mom.  When he goes to school, mom is home wondering why it is quiet.  Although she could have chestised him just yesterday for running amuck in the house, today, she wishes he was there doing just that.  But then, there is always after school, when he is going to need help with the homework, or need to be "forced" to take a bath, say his prayers, eat right, go to bed....well, you get the picture. 

From boy to man is the hardest part.  The tme when he pushes mom away.  The time when the physical contact is discouraged.  The time when he goes to his room and closes the door.  The time when his friends come to the house and he does not stop to introduce them to you.  The time when a boy starts talking fuel injection, and spoilers, and tuned suspension.  Instead of mom, he wants his cars and girls.  This is hard, but still...through the door...the foolishness stops for a few moments, and I hear the prayers.  This is a comfort.

Then one day he is given a new beginning.  High School ends, and he must make a decision about his own destiny.  He comes home, pamplets in hand.  On one of them, a handsome, smartly dressed soldier salutes.  Behind this soldier is the American flag.  In bold letters it says "Be all you can be in the Army."  "I want to serve my country in the military." he says boldy.  "Mom...I need your blessing (as is tradition in places where military service is not mandatory)...Dad said it is up to you...I already talked to him about it and he said yes, it is honourable for me to do this."  "Look mom, when I get out I will have money to go to college."  What is a mother to do.  She knows the dangers of war, being placed in a hostile environment where most of the people want  you to go home.  She has seen the ugliness of oppression and war, and collective punishment...and yet, she consents...hoping our leaders would be responsible enough to know which battles to pick and to avoid violence at all costs.

As he leaves home, she realises that this is not a sleepover.  He is not going to sportcamp, or to visit a relative in another state to stay the summer, or a religious retreat.  As he stands in the transport centre with many other mothers who are there to see their children off to military service.  All the game faces there, the fake smiles, the abreviatied greetings are there.  But, as his name is called and we reach the point where mom and son have to part...he embraces me, on his own...and tells me he will be ok.  "Don't cry mom...don't be like that lady over there" as he points to a woman in the corner drying her eyes.   "I won't", I say, knowing that is going to last as long as he can see me.  It was a long trip home.  Much longer it seemed than it took us to get there.

Hopefully mom taught him all he needed to know to survive.  No, I don't shoot straight, I don't know anything about combat except how to run away from it.  I don't know much about artilliary, or tanks, or rockets except that they are dangerous and kill people.  That is for the military to teach him.  To me, survival means that he is proofed against hatred.  To me, it means that he will know the difference between knowing when to fight, and knowing when to avoid it.  It means that he will not oppress another.  It means he will understand that everyone has the right to exist because God put them here on Earth.  It means that should he have to take a life, that that person will not be judged his enemy regardless of the intent of the other, that it will not be out of revenge or anger.  And most of all, that he will not find glory in it.  I hope he understands that in war there are no heros, no winners, no honour, and no gain.  

You see, we moms don't raise our children to fight war.  We raise them in the spirit of the progression of humanity.  We raise them up in order to promote the common good.  We raise them up so that they will be assets to thier families...their communities...and the world.  We do all of that, and then they are placed in a situation with inept leaders who hide behind the sacrifice of other mothers.  No Mrs. Bush...you do not understand, you do not suffer more than a mom who has a child fighting this war of choice.  You will not understand the stress and pain until you are a mother like Cindy, or me, or a hundred fifty thousand other moms.  I would like to know what nobel cause do we sacrifice our children.  God help us.

We only have prayers now.

Zanubiyah...a mom.