My son joined the Air Force and graduated last summer from boot camp in San Antonio, Texas. My wife and I flew to San Antonio to attend his graduation and to hang with him for a few days before he left for tech school.
He was given a day off, so we went to the Alamo and then to the popular “River Walk,” a clean and well-kept footpath that follows the San Antonio River as it winds its way downtown and through the tourist district.
He was permitted to wear his new Air Force uniform, and people kept stopping him and thanking him for his service, not realizing that his service at that point consisted of only eight weeks of boot camp. One old fellow even walked up to him and called him a “hero.” If there is anything heroic about him, it is that he somehow survived eight weeks of being yelled at by a drill instructor who wore his hat brim on his nose. I would have tapped out by the second day.
It was, however, uplifting to see the respect he received, and I’m sure my son welcomed it. But as much as I respect my son and other military personnel, I have a different group of people in mind as my heroes, people who don’t wear a uniform or a badge or a cape even though they perform superhuman acts every day. These people are single mothers.
I certainly don’t mean every single mother. I don’t mean to be callous, but I sometimes see single mothers who compel me to breathe a silent prayer for their kids. My heroes are the good mothers, the ones who never intended to be single mothers but by the fall of the cards, now they are. In particular, I mean the ones who do not benefit from a strong support group of wealthy or helpful parents or a decent ex who continues to support the family. I mean the the 24/7 Superwomen who are out there every day toiling and hustling and often working more than one job, all to raise good, decent and respectful kids.
I mean the ones for whom money is always tight; the ones who must watch every penny and never seem to have quite enough to pay those few extra dollars for a school field trip, let alone the rent . . . and certainly never have enough for a little extravagance for themselves. I mean the ones who spread their bills on the table each month and try to decide which ones they will pay and which ones they can forego and still have electricity and water and food on the table.
I mean the ones who must account for every minute of every day, as well as too many minutes that don’t even fit into the day. The ones who wake up every morning and somehow manage to get the kids fed and dressed and dropped off at school, and then must still get to work, buy groceries, get the kids to appointments, attend school events, do laundry, cook dinner, bandage knees and still have time to hold their kids and tell them they love them and things will be better . . . someday.
I mean the ones who can be exhausted and hungry and suffering from lack of sleep and poor nutrition, but they must still soldier on because there is no one else. There is no spouse to give them a grateful hug in the night or, even better, an offer to take the kids to school in the morning. Hillary Clinton once told us “It takes a village” to raise a child. It's a nice soundbite, and I mean no disrespect for Ms. Clinton, but I have yet to see the village that offers rest and succor for single mothers. There is no one to step in when life gets too overwhelming. No spouse, no village . . . no one to lend a hand and say quietly, “Hey, I can help.”
My wife and I raised two kids. They were good kids, but I still remember the sleepless nights and the many times I went to work in a fog, and the panicky time late at night when my son needed to be rushed to the hospital. I remember being the soccer parent and the Scout parent, and I remember how one of us was always ferrying the kids to school or to a doctor's appointment or to one of their friend’s homes. I also recall, thankfully, that my wife did the brunt of the work. (I was just the one who whined about how exhausting it was!) I cannot even imagine how difficult it would have been to have attempted that monumental task on my own.
Single mothers know that life is not always fair. On some days, it seems as though life is stacked against them. They get sick. A child gets sick. The car breaks down. A child has behavioral problems. You lose your job. The rent is increasing, and the landlord has no sympathy and would just as well have you gone. Or perhaps he can forgive your rent this month if you can do him "a special favor." Your life is one of those tumbling tower, wooden-block games, and you are praying someone doesn’t pull out the wrong block, the one that will send your life cascading into a tumbled mess.
How many nights do single mothers replay their lives and wrestle with the pangs of what might have been? How did their dreams burst? How did things go so terribly wrong? They tried to live good lives, but, somehow, it all went downhill. If only her husband had not drank so much; if only she had married the quiet guy who loved her . . . How many nights do they bury their faces into a tear-sodden pillow so that their children don’t hear their sobs?
Despite it all, however, there is something about single mothers, a defining characteristic of many of them, a fierce vitality and a steel-like toughness that can emerge from the depths when needed. Even the best single mothers experience moments when they want to give up, tap out, raise the white flag or throw up their hands and shout “No mas!” But they can’t. Giving up is not an option.
I live next door to one of these heroes. She is a single mother supporting two school-age daughters as well as another daughter pursuing her master’s degree at a prominent west coast college. In addition to the three children, she supports her own mother, who is elderly and frail and lives with her. She is doing a wonderful job and her story is a successful one, but it has taken a toll. Her life is harried, and her blood pressure is too high. She’s a nurse. She knows it is too high. But, sometimes, life is too overwhelming.
I don’t know how she does it. I don’t know how any of them do it. But most of them somehow toil on and succeed, raising good and decent kids who work hard and have respect for others. We should all salute them. And perhaps we should offer to drive their kids to school one day.
**********
Note: In writing this, I opted for simplicity by referring only to single mothers. Actually, single fathers share many of the same trials as single mothers, and my hat is off to them.
Comments