Mumsie and I, somewhere in Scotland or the Soviet Union.
Some of you may be wondering why I chose to celebrate mothers in the month of November; after all, Mothers' Day is in May.Well, the reason lies in the picture above. Her name is Dr. Maxine Patricia Parris-Aaron, born November 20th, 1958.
Mumsie chilling at Canada's Wonderland a couple of years ago.
Those of you who are shocked that I would make her exact date of birth public have probably never met me mother. If you had, you'd know she is one of those women who knows that her value as a person, as a woman, isn't dependent on her age. She owns her age. She is proud of it. The same way she is proud of all her struggles and all her achievements. The fact that she doesn't look like she's fifty-six probably helps a bit too :).
Me and Mumsie when I was a wee thing.
There are people that say working mother destroy the home or that a woman can't be an adequate mother or a successful career woman if she pursues both endeavours simultaneously. They argue that the two are mutually exclusive. These people have also clearly never met my mother. Growing up I was always proud of my mother's success outside the home. She is a well-respected veterinarian and expert on agricultural health and development. Much of what she does is absolute gibberish to me, but what she represented for me was the idea that women could be smart and authoritative role models. I never doubted that women could achieve the same sort of success in their careers that men enjoyed because I lived with a shining example of female excellence. I was also privy at an early age to the fact that as woman I would have to work harder and fight more to get the kind of success and respect I desired and, hopefully, deserved. It is a lesson that is reinforced everyday in places like the comic bookstore in which I work, where my opinion and expertise are constantly questioned because I have a vagina instead of a penis. And though I often grow frustrated with the need to prove myself over and over again, I am always reminded that my mother has to do the same in a much more demanding job and for a lot longer than I've been restraining myself from punching chauvinistic pigs, insisting that they need to speak to a man, in the face.
Monique and Mumsie, and some random chick who just popped into the picture, in Chinatown, Toronto.
I also learnt when to speak up and when to be silent from my mother. There are times where standing up for yourself is vital and times when the right thing to do is to let something go, move on and find better. It was also my mother's refusal to give up on people, especially young people, that resulted in me growing up with a s**t-ton of foster sisters and brothers. My childhood taught me that everyone is my equal no matter who they are and where they come from.
I learnt to be responsible and accountable for my actions because my mother not only lead by example, but because she encouraged me to be. Mumsie traveled a lot for work when I hit my teen years and while she always left us in the care of an adult, she always impressed upon us that she expected us to be responsible for ourselves. She hardly bugged me about my homework because she trusted that I'd do what I needed to do to excel at school. She was there when I needed to be reminded that the occasional bad grade didn't define me or decide the parameters for my success in life. She was also there to celebrate every triumph.
Some of the young people from C-HLP, a youth development programme of which my mom is a big part.
My mom is involved in more extra-curricular and youth programme you can think of. She's known as 'Aunty Maxine' to half of the kids in Georgetown. Most of them turn to her for advice and help. If my mother had kept half the money she has donated to charitable causes over the year, she would actually be a multi-millionaire. But she has gotten richer dividends from investing in people, rather than stocks. My faith in people is a direct result of my mother's stubborn refusal to give up on humanity, even when some of her experiences could have understandably caused her to become a heartless and bitter person. It is such an inspiration to see how big her heart is and the difference it has made in so many lives.
Monique, Mumsie and I the night we won our respective categories in the Mother and Daughter Pageant.
My family has a very good reputation back home. Amongst the older generation, my mother's family name carries a certain respect. The minute people over fifty find out I'm a 'Parris', I am treated differently. I am regularly referred to as 'Malcolm Parris' granddaughter'. And while that is an honour, I feel more pride when I am called "Dr. Parris' daughter" (or "Dr. Aaron's daugther", my dad is a well-respected orthopaedic surgeon. I am the black (Arts) sheep of the family lol). Why? Because despite her insistence that my room is always too messy and her dislike of my tattoos and piercings, she is one of the best mothers I know. She has a crazy temper, that both Monique and I inherited. She is entirely too hard on herself and sometimes, on her children. But she is the first person to pull you back up when you've fallen down. To remind you that you have value when you can't see it. To offer you a hand when no one else will. She tells me every day how proud of me she is, how much she loves me, and how lucky she is to have me as a daughter. The truth is, I am lucky to have her for a mother. She has weathered a lot of disappointment and heartbreak in her lifetime and she is still one of warmest, funniest and most generous persons I know. If I grow up to be half the woman she is, the world will be a much better place.
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