Mother's Day

Well I have been thinking of the fate of my people. My people being middle-aged women who are mothers in this high speed, perfectionistic, media-driven cyberborg society. In my mother’s generation the mothers for the most part DID NOT work outside the home, so their houses were looked after by them, the children pretty much looked after by them, and no one expected them to have fresh ground coffee beans, fresh store-boughten flowers, or children who would got a 4.8 grade point average. AND they either had servants if they were well off (THEIR mothers might have had SLAVES if they were well off) OR if they were not well off, they would have extended family- THEIR mothers, sisters, sisters-in-laws, etc.

I had a Laotian babysitter for my youngest child. She looked after my infant while I did a coaching job on the phone. She could not believe that I did not live with my mother, my sister, my aunt. With great pity in her voice she asked me, “Just YOU?? You are the only woman in your house??” She obliged me by doing the work and supporting me as a mother, a sister and two aunts would have done.

I was 8 months pregnant and I had a two year old when I took her on. I was so proud of myself that I was going to have my baby at home. I knew that she had 8 children and so I asked her if she had them all at home. “No, no, none at home,” she said to my great surprise. I was about to ask her what kind of hospital she went to when she finished the thought:

“In the field- very good in the field- no mess.” I then asked her if she had been alone all those times.
“Oh no!” She said. “Sometimes my husband was with me.”
"You had all those babies in the field?” I asked.
“All except for Caen. We found him.”
“What?”
“During Viet Nam war a man had 2 year old tied to a porch. He had food in a bowl like a dog. We took that child. I was just 18 and I live with my parents. My boyfriend too. So sometimes I had Caen with me at my parent’s house, sometimes my boyfriend. When we got married, Caen was our firstborn!”

I got to know my babysitter well. Her name is Fahm Foo. She invited my family over to her house in San Pablo many times, and I have rarely seen people live so well. She had her grown daughters and a married son living with her and they had planted a large garden. All their bountiful, beautifully cooked meals came from the garden, complemented by chicken and pork that would have seemed like a dream in the concentration camp in Thailand where she lived with her 8 children before she managed to come to the states. I saw her beautiful garden and was particularly struck with the large purple poppies.

“We lived from them in Laos,” she said.
“You sold flowers?”
“No- opium, but no more!” she said.
“Opium! You must have made lots of money!”
“Oh yes! Enough for food AND clothes!” she enthused.

I managed to raise my 2 daughters without the help of opium sales, but with the help of my husband and our village-like neighborhood, but now it is college time for the oldest one. It’s just like being required to buy a house for each child as they leave home. And the prep! I remember that the night before my SAT exam I went out to a party, inhaled and woke up very groggy, but managed to get to the test on time. I exhaled sharply at the difficulty of one test question, and I saw smoke come out.

No one suggested that I study for this thing- no one I knew did. And the only college councelling I got was one sentence from my older brother's stoned girlfriend: “Hey, man, the College of Marin is a really groovy school!”

“OK. I said. I’ll go there.” But I never got around to it. In San Francisco in 1968 there were so many other things to do.