For this, the first blog post of the Feminist Mermaid, I wanted to start where it all began. My mother. Most people love their moms. Many people respect their moms. We like them for their kindness, their love, their patience. We thank them on Mother's day and on their birthdays, and maybe on days in between. Something we often ignore about our mothers, though, is their strength, and my mom is the strongest person I know.
Mom was a punk in college, and though she traded her black pants and wild hair for a more mom-ly appearance, at heart, she is still that outspoken person.
After a C-section for her first child (my brother), my mom went on to give birth vaginally to my sister and I without painkillers. My sister's birth was induced. What she did is not even allowed anymore in hospitals.
When my brother was an infant, mom ran a 13k race while breastfeeding him. As in, she carried him as she ran and fed him simultaneously.
When we lived in Malaysia and only had one car, mom would walk us (brother--6, me--4, sister--infant) across the vast, multi-lane highway. She carried a big stick in one hand to threaten the crazy scooter-drivers with. We never got hit.
When I was four and our previously-abused family dog attacked me, my mom threw it off of me and wrestled it into the kitchen. She whisked me upstairs, put a washcloth on my head, arranged for my dad and brother to be found and told (they were on a bike ride) and secured a ride with a family friend to the hospital. I remember her solidity and calmness. When we arrived, she claimed the best surgeon in the hospital for me. He specialized in sewing veins. I had to get more than 300 stitches on my scalp. I was terrified, but mom didn't waver.
In her spare time in Malaysia, mom would run "hashes". Ie: races in the form of adult tag (everyone chases the person who's "it") through the jungle with other interested people. When I say "jungle", I mean "jungle". She and dad would bring home leaches for my brother and I after these little jogs.
When she was worried our educations would suffer from our constant military-moving, mom took it upon herself to homeschool us. When we re-entered school, we all read at a college level and ended up all graduating valedictorians.
My mom taught me how to shoot when I was a kid because women should know how to protect themselves. She was also an NRA-Certified instructor and specialized in teaching women's classes because she wanted to teach women to be strong. She has the best aim.
Mom navigated our family trips across country with just we kids in the car, in the time before Garmin, Google maps, and smart phones. She used paper maps and a CB radio.
When we walked to the local park as kids, mom scared away the creepy cat-callers.
My mom doesn't see problems, only possible solutions.
When dad worked night shifts in Virginia, mom kept us well-behaved and grateful, not matter how bratty and not-understanding we wanted to be about dad's new hours.
When dad was away on trips, even the month-long ones, mom didn't let her loneliness show or affect our lives.
My mother never used makeup or clothes to feel beautiful. It didn't matter if people looked at her strangely for wearing men's pants. "They have bigger pockets". Now that I'm an adult, I find I cannot stand a pair of pants unless it has a good pair of pockets.
Mom never let her personal feelings of a person get in the way of how she treated them. "Manners are for people you don't like."
She never let anything get in the way of her helping people who looked like they needed it.
Wherever we moved, mom was always the first of us to meet people and make connections.
Mom was a volunteer firefighter. She also became an EMT. She said she was treated badly by her EMT classmates for being an older woman, but that she didn't care because she was learning things to help people.
When our dog cornered a copperhead snake near our house, my mom shot the snake's head off. When a rabid opossum was walking towards our house, mom killed it. The same goes for many other dangerous or trouble-causing animals.
My mom's mid-life crisis was to buy a rock-crawler jeep.
When our turkey was savaged, mom helped my sister and I patch it up. She was not deterred by the maggots, smell, or heat.
Mom taught us that to be nice and smart at the same time. After dropping off a hitchiker, she made clear, "I only picked him up because his clothes were too tight to hide a weapon, and because I had my gun if he'd tried anything." You go, Mom.
My mom has more upper-body strength than I can hope to get in my entire life. One word, "indefatigable".
Mom always weeds her garden, even in the 100 degree heat. When her whiny kids wouldn't help, she remained unperturbed.
Mom taught me the value of "no".
One of mom's ideas of "fun" is to ride a horse in the 20-degree weather.
Mom is usually the one we bring our bad problems to first. Dad often gets the buffer of her, but we rarely give her that luxury. She still answers her phone whenever we call.
She doesn't lose her temper, even when dealing with extremely unreasonable people.
Mom used to run races with dad, the ultra-marathoner, until her tendonitis flared up so badly she couldn't walk for a bit.
She taught me how to do basic repairs on toilets and cars. (I used some of that knowledge this week; thanks, Mom!)
Even though she is terrified of flying, mom came to Italy with my sister and me.
My mom is not afraid of creepy crawlies. I wish her bravery had rubbed on me in regards to spiders.
Mom drives superbly in all weather conditions. She never loses her cool, even when hitting black ice and spinning 180 degrees.
No matter how unlovable we act, the strength of my mom's love never wavers. She always encourages us to be our best selves.
My mom taught us to have fun freely. Social rules are often straight bull, and she taught us it was okay to ignore those ones. I didn't see the value of that when I was younger. But now, I understand.
I appreciate my mom for a great many things. She cooks well; she gives great hugs; she's got a great sense of humor. But, today, I want to share my appreciation for her strength. She's amazing. Thanks, mom, for making this possible.
