it Just Takes

The beautiful young client looked at her image in the mirror as the final touches were completed on her new hairdo, and joyfully exclaimed, "Wonderful, now I look like a Mom." Then she added, "I just had a baby."

I looked at her (lovely, young, lithe) and I wondered, "What does she think a Mom looks like?"

The Moms I knew and have known come in all sizes, shapes, colors and varieties. I don't believe I could possibly fit any of them into a particular category or physical description.

Joan and I shared the distinction of having the two most beautiful Moms on 58th Street. They were the neighborhood version of Hedy Lamarr and Maureen O"Hara. While they were not inseparable chums, they walked together every day down the block to their jobs at FAO Schwartz. Neither of them looked anything like the other mothers standing on the stoops as they walked by. Nor did they wish to

While thinking about the words of the new Mother, I also wondered if giving birth to a child should be the only qualification distinguishing a woman as being a Mom.

Aunt Helen never married and was never pregnant. Yet during the years both my sisters and I grew up, she was a Mom for us much of the time. While our birth Mom was loving, intelligent and had strong vocal opinions, her younger sister, Helen, was quiet, passive and gentle. I never heard her raise her voice either in jest or in anger.

There ere many moments when both my sisters and I individually sought out the gentle kindness and comfort provided by this quiet lady Never judgmental, always forgiving, deeply religious and constantly comforting, she seemed to be always there when needed. Helen was a constant presence in the background of her more volatile elder sibling. I remember her often, just listening to the louder voices; yet never raising her own in protest.

I am well aware, we could never have learned the strength taught by our Mother from our aunt. However, all three of us learned something quite different. We were taught patience merely by being in her presence, and possibly, also, a lesson in acceptance.

Unfortunately, Aunt Helen's talents were rarely acknowledged by her three young nieces. Then in later years we each watched her emerge as the sole survivor of a large family, and saw her begin to enjoy living alone independently. We were all amazed and wondered why her family hadn't known her better, or understood she was equally as capable as her older sister.

Whenever I see my byline in print, I remember another woman. Mother Dorothy was a young Ursuline nun who taught English in Cathedral High School. During the few short months, one semester, I was in her class, this young teacher made me believe the words I constantly scribbled into a spiral notepad would one day be worth reading. How could I describe this young nun in her white habit and veil when attempting to explain her maternal influence on a very young, impressionable, girl.

So I couldn't really describe what a Mom looks like. Some are tall. some are thin; some are neither. Some Moms are athletes, some are overweight, some have red,blue and pink highlights in their ponytails, and some even have tattoos. And yes, some even wear uniforms. Yet all Moms are beautiful especially in the eyes of the children who love them, forever and always, both in life and in memory long after.

And I do believe the lovely young client in the beauty salon will come to realize that one day also. Just the way I have. It just takes time.