For My Mother, On Her Birthday

My mom, like me, is a crier. I don’t know if she would come straight out and admit it, but I know it’s true. I’ve seen her cry at high school graduations and senior soccer games and awards banquets and even when watching Steel Magnolias for probably her 700^th time. I’ve watched her cry over my brother and I, over our friends, over her friends, her friend’s kids, and over the woman in Steel Magnolias. (She really likes Steel Magnolias.)

But here’s the other thing. My mom is the strongest woman I know. And recognizing those two sides of my mom- the woman who cries over a fictional beauty parlor in Louisiana, and a woman who fights tooth and nail, from the bottom of her heart for the people and issues she believes in- has shaped so much of the person that I am today.

I was going to political rallies long before I understood what political rallies were. Marches for healthcare, for teachers, for abortion access, my mom took me to all of them. I’m fairly sure I knew what Planned Parenthood was before I could read. And that’s special. And that’s amazing. I love that I grew up with a mother who cares so much and so deeply, and acts on those commitments.

My mother fights. Not just with me, but for me, and for woman and for children and for everyone. She’s strong and opinionated and works so hard for the things she believes in. I love that. And I love her.

I know there’s that whole cliché line- “I’m a lover not a fighter” – but my mom taught me that I can be both. 

I can cry at sad movies and yell at protests. I can bake the world’s best brownies and make my daughter weird and beautiful hair bows, and be smart and strong and political and bold. 

Growing up in my house meant understanding that women could be all kinds of things, because my mom never limited herself. She was strong and she was sensitive and she was kind and she cared so much about so many things. I’ll be lucky if I grow up to be even a little bit like her.