May 11, 2007

A Day for Moms and Cops

Chances are, you won't forget Mother's Day on Sunday. Even if you were in a complete media blackout all week and you missed the commercials, the ads and the special sales, your own mother is bound to remind you.

Allow me to demonstrate.

Jason and Tom, if you are reading this, Sunday would be a good day to call and check to see if I'm still alive. No flowers or cards necessary--just a 3-minute call to give me an update on your lives. I'm tired of searching your blogs to find out what's new. Your grandparents ask me how you are and I say, "Just a minute. I'm waiting for MySpace to download." Don't forget the time difference between San Carlos and San Francisco. Feel free to call collect.

When the boys were little, I could count on Mother's Day cards--they were assigned as an art project in school. Both kids were good artists, but were a little lacking in the formal sentiment department. My oldest always signed his card "Your son, Jason S." just in case there was any question about which Jason had sent the card. They were always better at spontaneous expressions of love. A bouquet of wildflowers - even the ragweed I was allergic to - always made me happy beyond reason. An unguarded "I love you, Mom" from a child who had spent the entire evening being disobedient and hateful is a precious gift.

Now that it's too late, I wish I had spent more time cultivating and savoring these moments instead of always feeling like I had to be the Bad Cop. Which reminds me. In a stunning coincidence, Mother's Day this year falls right in the middle of Police Week.

There is a similarity in job descriptions: both Moms and Cops are supposed to make sure people act right and call them on it when they don't.

Seriously, my boys never went beyond the typical teenage shenanigans and usually took their medicine when they acted up. One notable example springs to mind.

My youngest, Tom, was about 15, the age when boys ought to be sent to a camp somewhere to take out their aggression on each other instead of on their parents and teachers. One night, an argument started about one of my unfair expectations-that he clean his room or do his homework, or some equally outrageous request-and it escalated until he became so sarcastic and disrespectful that his step-father grounded him and told to stay in his room for the rest of the evening.

The perpetrator safely confined, Keeper and I flopped on the couch in frustrated exhaustion. A moment later, the doorbell rang. We went to answer it, and there stood Tom, a grin on his face. "You can't make me stay in my room," he said triumphantly." I can just climb out the window!" Of course, it might have been smarter to enjoy his freedom for awhile before rubbing his escape in our faces, but apparently his victory over our tyranny was enough to make him content with his punishment. He went to his room and stayed there quietly the rest of the evening.

As an adult, Tom gave me the best gift I've ever received. He apologized for giving me such a rough time when he was a teenager.

So, this Mothers Day, call or visit your Mom. Thank her for the loving care she gave you. Apologize if you need to. And then shake the hand of the next police officer you see. The job is just as hard as being a Mom. Except they get to use handcuffs.