Mother's Day

It's Hug Your Mama Day again! Hard to believe it has been a year. What did you do for Mother's Day? Did you send your mother a card? Made her breakfast? Set the kitchen on fire? Perhaps take her out to dinner?

Looking back, I think sons have it easier growing up with their mothers. With daughters, there are the inevitable conflicts of, "I can't believe you dare to wear that skirt outside the house! Get back to your room and change into something less obscene more presentable, young lady!" Or, "What do you mean you don't want to learn how to cook? Get your butt in the kitchen!" Or, "Why are you dating such riffruff?"

With sons, the only thing you have to worry about is learning to divide your attention and affections between your mother and your (serious) girlfriend so that neither feels left out. Unless your first name is Norman, last name, Bates, that's it.

Growing up, I made mom worry a lot. No, it wasn't clubbing (I found it immensely boring and meaningless after a couple of weeks) or the people I associated with. Rather, it was the places I would go and the solitude I prefer. While mothers are worried about their sons smoking, drinking, clubbing and mixing with the wrong company, my mom would be worried about me getting hit by a vehicle cycling around Singapore, Malaysia, or Indonesia, getting lost in the forest of Upper Pierce Reservoir (where I love to hike, bike or fish), Mandai, or drowning in some swamp or body of water. Every mother has to worry over something, I suppose.

These days, the only thing mom nags about is the need for me to be more presentable in my dressing. You see, if I wear my circa 1990 Eric Clapton Journeyman Tour T-shirt and jeans, I consider that presentable. That T-shirt doesn't have many wash cycles before it starts showing holes. You better be damn well touched if I show up in that. Anything more formal than that, you better be lying in a casket.

I fail to see the reasoning behind this FOB-ish race to be constantly dressed up. Oh, you are all decked out in Banana Republic, Nordstrom, Polo Ralph, etc. and you are going to... the mall (in the famous words of my ex-housemate, "What are you? 13?"), Starbucks, Safeway, Albertsons, the post office? This is almost as bad as the bengs that wear $2000 Versace pants and take the bus / taxi / subway.

Perhaps you might want to read up on how, in the days of colonial administration, students in Africa had to wear starched shirts, pants, leather shoes and ties in the heat and dust. Or how shorts and sandals continue to be banned in universities in a certain tropical-island-city-state. (Which begs the question: are you trendy, or are you really just dressed-up sheep?)

My saving grace? If you want to see me dressed up, come to the Mission Santa Clara de Asís on Sunday nights during the academic year. Mom has seen it and seems satisfied with that.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom :-)
Wish you are here to see me sing tonight...