Today, as I was waiting at the bus stop, a man on crutches made his laborious way across the street toward me. His progress was hampered by the two bags clutched in his hands that made his grip on the crossbars of his crutches slippery and tenuous at best, by the steep hill of the street, and by a general unsteadiness possibly associated with the contents of those bags, one of which was pretty clearly a fifth of something.
As he approached me, I tried to make a bit more space for his crutches by maneuvering my bulky canvas bags, spilling over with returnable bottles, out of the narrow sidewalk space. He smiled crookedly at me, remarking, “It’s a beautiful day, Miss Ma’am.” I agreed, smiling back, and he moved on, calling out, “Happy Mother’s Day, if you’re a mother. Or, uh, if you ever become one.”
In that spirit, Happy Mother’s Day to you, if you ever had a mother.