Mother’s Day is approaching, so obviously it is time to exhibit her just how much you adore her. Undeniably we do express that inherent sentiment every other day. Nonetheless, it is two days away.
One can link this day as a very, very American idea that has exclusively established as an annual event. A mother has the right to be honoured, admired and adored at least one entire day out of the 366-day-long leap year. Yes, this day says a lot about our approach towards the mother. It can be deduced that this day makes us realize the reality that there is a paradise under the mother’s feet.
I feel how my mother used to be soft-hearted and considerate. When my mother helped me overcome one big hurdle in Class V. I was studying at City Montessori School in Ghazipur district. It was situated opposite to the city’s grand Town Hall. I was grasping at straws due to my intense incapability of completing the book craft task given by the school to be finished prior to the final examinations.
The task of making a triangle-shaped wall holder was given by the class teacher. It was obviously not a difficult task, yet I wasn’t good at the art of making it in an exact way acceptable to the most humble class teacher of the school and it was the final year examination activity. The class teacher was mild and humble, but the principal was like a strict general. She was tough on my inability. After delivering a strongly-worded lecture, she instructed the teacher to hand me an old rusty holder and asked me to submit it by pasting fresh flowery paper on it. Somehow it was a relief to me.
What I did then was that I took the holder and came to my house not too far from the school. I came quickly through the shortest possible path. My sudden presence at the house surprised everyone. Ignoring all sorts of futile arguments, my mother helped me by covering the bad-looking holder with a new piece of glazing paper and even made it completely different within a few minutes.
I found her so apt at book craft. She prevailed where I was totally flunking. I rushed back to the school and submitted the fully garnished holder with a new look. Looking at it, the toffee-nosed principal smiled and accepted the submission.
When I think of it, I still found it engaging. This is a tribute to my mother who died years ago.
What was inscribed more than a whole of one century ago by The Washington Review, Topeka, Kansas (Dec 12, 1923) needs to be mentioned ad verbatim here:
Mother (teaching child the alphabet) Now, dearie,—what comes after “G”? Child—“Whiz”