NO dramatic introduction. No literary references — just a simple recipe for my mother on Mother’s Day, which is tomorrow.
This is a rush-rush project of mine (I was caught between devilish fieldwork deadlines and the deep, blue sea of parting from an old friend). I have so many things to say, so little time.
For this week, I decided on a recipe that makes my mom such a good mother, and I go back to my grade school days when we were forced into making poems using the technique know as acrostics.
It’s like a crossword puzzle, only it’s not a crossword puzzle. And because I’m so bad at explaining things, let me just go ahead with my recipe.
M. Take two cups of maternal love and pour it into the heart of the woman who bore me for nine months. She was the only woman who loved my face, warts and all. Or as Anne Curtis said (to Aga Mulach) in her movie trailer When Love Begins:
“Love me for what I am not.”
Mom loved me for what I am not: brilliant, accomplished, and utterly handsome.
O. Take one cup of optimism because mom was the only person I know who could do a Maria (of Sound of Music): sing like a lark who is learning to pray. She did that even during times of trouble. For her, dark clouds only meant that the silver lining was just delayed in showing through. “Just you wait and see,” she would say each time problems popped up like burnt toast.
T. Take a spoonful of teachings and rub it vigorously all over the chicken: me.
I was rather a handful, young boy and mom got hoarse from shouting at me to “climb down that mango tree” or “please, wear your slippers” or “son, never smoke, never take illegal drugs.”
All those years of teaching can be seen in the kind of person I am now. She told me once she feared I’d become “a bad one,” but she felt happy when I found a regular job. She’d be prouder to know that I’m now a columnist for Sun.Star Cebu.
A great mom, she was; a good teacher who molded me with gentleness and care. Never did she embarrass me in front of people when I did something wrong. She always took me aside, away from prying eyes.
H. Take a teaspoon of humor. It’s enough to flavor the entire day. My mom was good at parody and she had a wacky sense of humor. When dad was gross, she was grace. When he was sour, she was sweet, and all that through hurmor.
E. Take a pinch of economical mind to balance the house. You don’t need too much accounting, my mom once told me. All you need is “common sense in handling your money.”
R. Take a dash of romance. All though my growing years, my mom was the classic romantic who dressed up our food with what she called “making art.”
Chefs call it “plating” and home cooks term it “decorating,” but it will always be “making art” for me.
Romance, she showed us, is not only in kissing and dating. It dresses up all parts of your day and everything you do.
All of us have mothers (mine is gone). I offer this recipe to anyone who remembers the woman who gave birth to us and gave us the chance to enjoy this beautiful world—and say thanks. (ober.khok@yahoo.com)
