Kay Ayed makes sense of an awkward moment.
I have to admit, I’m one of many who grumble about Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. To me, both seem like commercial exploitations of family bonds. I mean, I love my parents every day, so why do I need to show them my love on a specific day just because everyone else has decided to? And, although I can’t speak from person experience, I know others feel the same about Valentine’s Day too. But still this doesn’t stop me from buying gifts. “I treat mum often anyway, so this is just another day, it just happens to be Mother’s Day,” I lie to myself.
This year, I decided to go all out and buy her the Nutribullet mixer. I know she’s always into dieting and health – so what better gift than her own smoothie maker? But fast forward to Mother’s Day: I enter Mum’s room only to see my brother holding the SAME gift, grinning.
Great minds think alike? Maybe. But is that all there is to Mother’s Day? On paper, it seems easy peasy: on the fourth Sunday of Lent (Christian season of fasting which lasts until Easter, broken only by Mothering Sunday also traditionally known as Refreshment Sunday), you honour all the special women who brought you into this world and raised you. But in practice, what’s become of it?
Traditionally, Mother’s Day celebrations would include sharing a meal, early morning walks, a cup of tea and family visits – especially on the part of those in domestic service (skivvying for the rich) who weren’t allowed home on many other days. But during the past few years, it has more or less resembled a family competition of ‘who buys the best/most expensive gift?’ (for my family, at least.)
Buying a present identical to my brother’s (or the other way round) taught me two things: first, that we both know what Mum likes, but secondly and most importantly, that we are so busy focusing on the commercial side of things that we may have forgotten to grasp the true meaning of Mother’s Day.