Today is my mom's birthday. Beth Ann Phillips (now Feldman) was born on November 3, 1957, and I'm sure somewhere an angelic choir could be heard. No, 'twas not an immaculate conception-she was just born to common folks and raised in the ordinary town of Springville. There were not any plans to eventually crown her for a role in world leadership-her life was, like the most of us, simply to be charted by Chance and Opportunity. Wise men from afar didn't show up on Spencer Pike to laud her and offer expensive gifts-just visits by the friends and family of her parents, also common people.
If her entry into the world seemed a bit inauspicious and foretold of no certain greatness, her youth and beyond proved to follow-up with more of the same. The stories of her childhood offer a glimpse into a life full of typical accidents, unique in their own right, but nothing extraordinary to speak of. I hear tales of one somewhat strong-willed, a bit rebellious, and very pretty, but of great records and feats, none to speak of.
But if my purpose appears to be in belittling her, that perception is a false one. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. I merely wanted to give a preface to one of the more amazing stories I've ever known, and show that no matter how small the beginning may have been, the latter years of her life have proven to be absolutely enchanting. Goddess-like, even.
On April 22, 1975 a baby was born to her. In many respects it could have been perceived as an intruder and dealt with as such, seeing that she was just 17. There were nearly 1,000,000 abortions in that year, and that methods popularity was on a sharp increase. I have no idea if she ever considered this option, or if she was counselled to do so, but I'm glad she didn't. Adoption was another avenue she could have taken, and I'm not certain if it ever came to her mind either, but I'm glad she didn't do it. My aim is not at all political, just thankfulness, because in either case I would've been deprived of what I consider to be the one of the greatest benefits of my life-knowing the lady I call mom.
My childhood was spent in the care of a single parent. I know it must have been hard for her more times than it was easy, but as I look back I never recall feeling like I didn't belong. It amazes me because I'm sure there was no way I could have shown appreciation back then to the extent I can now, because I was unable to process the miracle happening in front of my eyes for what it was really worth. The sacrifices, the life-altering responsibilities, the sheer difficulty in trying to care for a son while still trying to find her own purpose and place in the world, it all must have been overwhelming at times. But if it was, I have no bad memories to share because she never even hinted at any hardships to me. Amazing.
She taught me to swim. It was in the Atlantic Ocean and I was about 6 years old. This is one memory I can't escape from, and that she swears to this day wasn't as bad as I let on. All I remember is being what seemed like miles from shore in a boiling, churning sea and let go and told to swim back, I could make it...and I recall the tears I shed! Well, regardless of the facts, I learned to swim, and have no fear, only respect, of the water to this day. I owe her for that.
She let me get involved in sports. From my earliest days I remember being involved in extracurricular activities. Baseball, basketball, football, soccer and eventually tennis. Not to mention the various other Boys Club events and school recreations. I didn't appreciate it enough then, but now that I have two of my own I recognize the amount of time and effort that goes into coordinating and transporting and paying for it all. It must have been tough, but I never recall being told I was too much of a burden and should just learn to play at home. I owe her for that.
She promoted in my life a love of reading. She bought me books, she signed me up for the Weekly Reader, and for my fascination with all things sports she even scored me a subscription to Sports Illustrated and other related magazines. We had televesion, and eventually I got a computer replete with a myriad of games, but she had already instilled in me a passion for the printed word. To this day I'm more often found reading than watching tv or playing video games. I owe her for that.
In my adult life she has taught me to be open-minded and respectful of others. She's given sage advice on money management and business practices. She's been there for me in the biggest philosophical wranglings of my life, and listened attentively to my personal dilemmas. She's the best nanna ("grandmother") to my boys that I could possibly ask for. She beams when she sees Boston & Britain, she dotes on them, and I stand back with a lump in my throat at the love she has for them. I owe her for all of this, too.
But today it's her birthday, and I struggle with what to say and do for her to recognize how important she is to me. I look upon her as the embodiment and epitome of "'tis better to give than to receive". If I could afford them even a Bentley and an island in the Caribbean wouldn't be enough to scratch the surface of the debt I owe to her. I'm neither scholarly nor skilled with words enough to offer her sufficient verbal praise. All I can offer is the fullest love that I as an appreciative son can give, and marvel at its inadequacy.
Mom, when you read this, just know that I love you with all my heart, and that I'm proud to be your son. I don't feel obligated to return favors to you because that would cheapen our relationship, but I do have a strong desire to make you proud and express my fascination for the woman you are.
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