Why I hate Mother’s Day.
I’m glad today is Mother’s Day because finally radio shows will stop asking for memories of mummies, newspapers and magazines will stop featuring syrupy sweet stories, anecdotes of mothers and children, stores and restaurants will stop offering special discounts for mothers and their won’t be any competitions or contests asking for what makes your mother special.
I particularly hate Mother’s Day even though I have a terrific mother because I don’t see why there should be a special day dedicated to all mothers. I call my mother up every day, sometimes twice a day or even more depending on whether I need advice or a shoulder to cry on but this is my own choice: we should all remember our mothers the way we choose to and if we choose not to, I don’t see why it should bother the rest of the world.
I’m sure my own children have their own memories of me which they’d rather forget :
- Like the time I ran to school in the clothes that I was wearing because I heard there was a bomb blast somewhere.
- Like the time they had to wear the clothes I made for them because I enjoyed sewing (and not because we could nor afford a tailor or readymades).
- Like the time they felt embarrassed that they had no dedicated nannies because I preferred looking after them myself.
- Like the times I made them walk, take them to the vegetable/fish market or even come home by bus because I wanted them to get a feel of the real world.
- Like the times they had simple birthday parties unlike the fancy theme parties of their friends because I enjoyed helping them with the decorations and party favours, not to mention the home made food
- Like the times I refused to let them watch TV and insisted they read instead.
- Like the times I refused to let them go for sleepovers or have friends over.
- Like the times I insisted they don’t miss a day of school or a piano lesson or badminton class just because they didn’t feel like going.
- Like the hundreds of times I refused to help them with their school projects
- Like the times the only choice they had was “This” or nothing
- Like the times I refused to let them wear make up when they were little or have boy friends.