MOTHER in comparison

Getting ready to receive the official White House Christmas tree—with First Dog Bo in tow, of course—in a floral circle skirt and tightly-belted cardigan. Just the right amount of retro influence.

PART 52

 "The contrasts between a mother ,and a wife can be as confident and subtle as wind shifts on a balmy day."

Mommy worked hard taking care of us as children. We were never involved enough in play, or chores not to pay attention to how she worked, and how she was as Mommy. I remember studying the contrasts in Mommy. When Daddy was near home an inner alarm would signal Mommy. She’d leave the kitchen in its order to run upstairs and freshen up. On a cue, she’d float downstairs with quiet expectancy touching her hair. I would tense a little and glance at the door while the others kept making noise, or fussing about something important.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Daddy’s home!” Someone, or all of us would say. “Daddy’s home!” And we’d race each other to the door.

My little body harbored a gnawing fear of Daddy alongside my adoration, and awe that held me back sometimes from my reaction to Daddy’s interactions with me. Those feelings easily subsided because Daddy played with us magically. The tonal inflections of his voice agitated smiles to our faces, and sparked our imaginations with colors and possibilities. A lot of times Daddy would entice us with the possibility of there being candy in one or more of his pockets. The question was which one?

Cynthia was a good climber. She could scurry up Daddy like he was a monkey bar, and she a monkey while we had to be pulled up to his shoulders. Other times we wrestled him to the sofa, and went through his pockets while he tricked us in small funny ways to look the other way away from where the candy really was. When we found the candy there might not be enough for all of us, and a piece or two would suddenly appear in his hand.

It was fun, and exhilarating until a sound, more a serpentine feeling moved mercurially around the room. It came from Mommy who’d been standing quietly a few feet from us. We paused. Daddy looked differently towards Mommy and we were hushed by what we’d perceived. Daddy seemed transported to another space and stepped through us into Mommy’s arms, and planted a deep kiss on Mommy. The depth and intensity could not be described. We were too young, but old enough to be quiet and respectful until the spell broke and Mommy, sometimes gasping would call us to the table. © Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 3.30.13

December 2012 Kennedy Center Honors,
where she looked absolutely incredible
in this gilded, embellished Michael Kors.