Celebrated everywhere ... maybe
It’s that time of year again, time to placate mothers the world over. Actually, is Mother’s Day a worldwide phenomenon or is it just an American thing? And just what exactly are the geographical parameters of this predetermined day of rueful adoration? It’s one of those holidays, like April Fool’s Day, that when I stop to think about it, I wonder ... do the Chinese celebrate it? I assume a nation that has worked its way up to be the world’s second largest economy by exercising a Confucian way of thinking – a system of philosophical and ethical teachings which defines the female as subservient to the male – would, of course, celebrate Mother’s Day.
But regardless of whether or not they share the United States’ manic enthusiasm for denoting calendar days to progenitor worship – which when you look at it from another angle implies there is an epidemic lack of it – I am currently caught up in the annual dilemma of what to get my mother. Now, she attests, with a hand held high, that she doesn’t want any presents, but I’ve seen enough sitcoms to know the secrets of women. They say one thing, but really mean another, TV Logic 101.
Either way, in lieu of a gift – she rolled her eyes at the very thought ... I know, right? She might as well have been winking – she calmed and simply desired to be taken out on her calendar-sanctioned-day-of-appreciation to a good restaurant. Now that I say it out loud, so to speak, that actually does sound like more of a daunting task than I had envisioned. In fact, I better get a reservation now or else I’ll be caught out in the rain when all of the fine dining within a 100 mile radius is choked with sweating offspring, eager to display their devotion to their life giver. So I must call now to avoid joining the throngs of scions, meekly peering from outside into packed restaurants, loosening the suddenly constricting bow ties of our dinner jackets while our unimpressed mothers give us “The Look.”
But wait, what is that I hear? The sound of sirens demanding my presence? I must be off! I guess I’ll just have to get reservations later.
Follow me on Twitter
... @evesunkevin
But regardless of whether or not they share the United States’ manic enthusiasm for denoting calendar days to progenitor worship – which when you look at it from another angle implies there is an epidemic lack of it – I am currently caught up in the annual dilemma of what to get my mother. Now, she attests, with a hand held high, that she doesn’t want any presents, but I’ve seen enough sitcoms to know the secrets of women. They say one thing, but really mean another, TV Logic 101.
Either way, in lieu of a gift – she rolled her eyes at the very thought ... I know, right? She might as well have been winking – she calmed and simply desired to be taken out on her calendar-sanctioned-day-of-appreciation to a good restaurant. Now that I say it out loud, so to speak, that actually does sound like more of a daunting task than I had envisioned. In fact, I better get a reservation now or else I’ll be caught out in the rain when all of the fine dining within a 100 mile radius is choked with sweating offspring, eager to display their devotion to their life giver. So I must call now to avoid joining the throngs of scions, meekly peering from outside into packed restaurants, loosening the suddenly constricting bow ties of our dinner jackets while our unimpressed mothers give us “The Look.”
But wait, what is that I hear? The sound of sirens demanding my presence? I must be off! I guess I’ll just have to get reservations later.
Follow me on Twitter
... @evesunkevin
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