Mother’s Day and Father’s Day

I don’t celebrate holidays. I know they exist. I just don’t care about them. I know that Halloween is the last day of October. I know that Thanksgiving is in November. I know that Christmas is December 25th, and I know that New Years is January 1st. But when it comes to Labor Day or Memorial Day, or Mother’s or Father’s Days, or Birthdays, I don’t really pay attention. The only reason I know they’re upon us, is when I see a bunch of Facebook posts.

For this article, I’m going to focus on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Now, I clearly have a problem with my biological parents. I’ve made no secret of the fact I see them as absolutely terrible people. Not just as parents, but as human beings as well.

To me, a parent is someone who supports you. Who encourages you to reach your full potential, even if you don’t attain it. Someone who accepts you when you fail, encourages you when you’re trying, and celebrates when you succeed.

By this definition, I’d like to once again point out my utter gratitude, love, and recognition of my Aunt Lynn and Uncle Dave. They picked up the pieces my biological parents found too heavy to carry.

They fulfill my definition of “parent” without the blood and DNA requirements so often assumed. Sure, they didn’t give birth to me, but they were far more important. They were positive role models in my development. Their affect wasn’t really felt until I was almost 20 and had escaped my biological parents. But once in a position of influence, they excelled. They didn’t see me as an offshoot or extension of themselves. The saw me as a separate individual with my own traits, interests, and abilities. And they supported me in exploring my options.

That is, by far, more important to a growing mind than simply, “I fucked your father so now you’re ours”. Being a parent is a lasting commitment. One, far too few people can endure. It’s not about passing on your genes. It’s not about making your children the people you want them  to be. It’s about making them the people they can be.

I’m not my father’s right arm. I’m me. I’m not my mother’s left leg. I’m me. I’m a separate individual with my own perception of reality. My own  thoughts, ideas, and belief structure, based on my own experiences. So many parents make this fatal flaw. But my aunt and uncle didn’t make this mistake. They saw I was interested in art, so they encouraged me to go to art school. When I graduated, they celebrated with me. When I didn’t know what direction to take with my career, they were available for advice.

They didn’t judge the whorable (get it?) women I dated. They just let me learn from my own mistakes, and offered advice if I asked. They showed me a world of possibilities, not restrictions. It wasn’t all about what I could never do, it was about what I could do. And if I failed their goals for me, they accepted it, and reassured me and focused me on my new path.

So this Mother’s Day (which I think passed) and this Father’s Day (which I think is coming up) don’t focus on the people who fucked without a condom and gave life to you. Focus on those in your life who have made you a better person. Happy Mother’s Day to my fake mom, Aunt Lynn. Happy Father’s Day to my fake dad, Uncle Dave. This is for all of the positive influences in your life, that were given not out of perceived mandation, but out of love.