I know next to nothing about women and only slightly more about men. Actually, I know a ton relative to men, it just doesn’t amount to much. There’s not as much, with men, to explore.
Every time I study a new group of people in whatever place and whatever time, I’m blown to bits by the strength of the women. Isabel Wilkerson’s first book is a prime example. The Warmth of Other Suns, is the story of America’s most prolific migration. From 1915-1970, across the span of six decades, over 6,000,000 black southerners fanned out across America in search of real freedom. They left everything behind and were mostly unwelcome even when they crossed the “imaginary” line into freedom. The men were amazing in their resilience but, again, the women had it so much harder. They just did.
Today, and most everyday, I am trying to better understand why we tell our sons and daughters such lies as they enter and try to make sense of this life. The truth is men are NOT the stronger ones unless you limit your strength test to the mere physical. There’s no doubt in my mind we clearly are the weaker sex especially when it comes to dealing with pain.
My hope is to one day gain enough strength in my CORE to be as tough as my Mom or my Miss. For now, I’ve got some building to do. For starters, I’ve got to stop whining so much. The minute my work appears headed the wrong direction, or I’m not recognized as the titan of my industry, or God help us all, sense my identity is being called into question by some idiot, Miss has to hear all about it ad infinitum. Damn straight, come on man I’m in some real pain here.
However, when Mom or Miss’s “life’s work” leaves without so much as saying goodbye and thanks for giving your life for me, I can hardly bear hearing about it. I just want to fix it, fix her, fix them, and get all frustrated ’cause I can’t. Weak.
Mom’s like Miss give until there’s nothing left, and then they’re mostly left behind and forgotten as their son’s and daughters go off to who knows what and take up residence who knows where. Moms like Miss, give everything to those they love and then get the satisfaction of knowing their good work, when they’ve really done it up right, is going, going, and soon GONE. Somehow Mom’s are wired to protect their young at all cost, through whatever problem, whatever prejudice, and whatever else might come their way. AND, somehow these same Mom’s are wired to LOVE them as these same young ones go their own way. Talk about some real strength. Talk about some real pain. Talk about your identity taking a real hit.
AND, all you Mothers out there, thanks for modeling the way forward for your men, your children, and anyone in your world giving you the gift of their attention. Thanks Mothers for being so strong. Happy Mother’s Day. And, men, lets try not to be such a pain.
Mothers are NOT the weaker ones…
BUILT TO LEAD 
As always, hits the right place. Sure glad God made Chet. Thanks!
Thank you.
I am a bad-ass Mom. My only child took his life and yesterday was my second Mothers Day without him. I blogged about it: http://www.afriendonthewalk.com.
I was also reflecting yesterday on how my husband (my sons stepdad) handles my absolute brokenness. In my deepest moments of despair he has… Never tried to cheer me up, distract me or fix me. He always stops whatever he’s doing – the meal gets cold, the tv gets turned off, the task gets set aside. He sits next to me, often in silence. Never asks “what triggered this breakdown?” (in hopes of removing that trigger somehow). When the wave comes when we’re in public he’s never seemed embarrassed in any way. He’s perfectly at ease just sitting in it with me.
John says my husband is an “under reactor.” He’s right. Honestly that drove me crazy the first 8 years of our marriage. But then the most horrible day of my life arrived. And now I’ve learned just how strong my under reactor is – through his (sometimes silent) companionship. I’m grateful for all the people who continue to grieve with me. And I’m grateful for their encouragement about my strength, my willingness to embrace the “hard work of grief.” I’m grateful for your post, Chet, about Mom’s and their strength. Yes, my identity took a massive blow. I am stronger and weaker than I ever knew I could be – than I’d ever thought I’d have to be. And on Mother’s Day I was especially grateful for how God comforts me through my under reactor. A lot of husbands could learn from him.