--by Mike Murray

I well remember a Cleveland television personality from my youth: Ron Penfound. Penfound dressed in a railroad engineer’s uniform and called himself Captain Penny. As Penny, he routinely closed his show with these words: “You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool mom. She’s pretty nice and she’s pretty smart. And if you listen to her, you won’t go far wrong.”

Okay, so it was a little schmaltzy. And a bit self-serving, too, inasmuch as Penfound’s praise persuaded thousands of women to seat their “younguns” in front of the boob tube each weekday to watch his show. Still, there was more than a grain of truth in his signature soliloquy. I’ll wager that a majority of the children who heard it can still recite it – verbatim – and agree with the sentiments expressed.

As I reflect on my own childhood, I can see that Captain Penny was right: Mom was special. I won’t bore you (or embarrass her) by recounting here the many heroic acts she performed in keeping things together for her family. But I will say this: she had it rough. A houseful of kids (seven by my deceased father; two more with her second husband).

Money was always tight, even when Dad was around. (Pop had issues. And he was plagued by more than a few demons. It is understatement to say that he didn’t always treat Mom right.) But, as difficult as things were for my mother while my father was alive, they only got worse after he died. Seven kids. A mortgage. And no savings – nor anyone at all on whom she could rely.

I couldn’t know then how frightened she must have been. How alone she must have felt. I can barely get my mind around it now. The physical work involved in single-handedly looking after so many kids (six of them rambunctious boys), the struggle to make ends meet, the strain of non-stop worry. I don’t know how she managed. But I do know one thing: A special place in Heaven awaits her arrival.

Fathers – good ones – are invaluable too. Dads are integral components of loving nuclear families. The best ones do considerably more than simply provide income. They share the household workload. They nurture. They help their young children – especially their boys – navigate the difficult emotional and psychological waters from childhood to adolescence. And, even more importantly, from adolescence to adulthood.

Just as we accept the fact that girls absorb much about life (and about gender identity -- which is sometimes separate from sexual identity) by observing their mothers, so, too, must we acknowledge that boys gain insight by spending time with their fathers. It bodes ill for our society that so many of them are today denied that opportunity.

As important as fathers are to their families, however, mothers might be even more essential. Generally speaking, a good man “does his duty” – and a whole lot more. But a good woman does even more than that: she does “whatever it takes.”

That’s not a criticism of males. I would be one of the last people on Earth to put down my own kind. Moreover, I know of men who are willing to do plenty – including, quite literally, walk through fire – in order to protect their loves ones.

It’s just that, when it comes to sacrificing of behalf of their offspring, women are extraordinary. Unless you’ve lived a very sheltered life, you’ve observed them doing remarkable things, day-in and day-out, in support of their families. Perhaps you have even, as have I, experienced the phenomenon “up close and personal.”

The intense nurturing instinct of females exists throughout nature. I see it each spring, as birds build nests all over our property. A day doesn’t go by that my wife and I aren’t startled by a mother robin or mourning dove, chattering furiously away as we pass too near (by her reckoning) her young, chirping brood. Take the trash out, or simply leave the house via the patio door some seasons, and a doting mother will spring into action.

And when I retrieve the lawnmower from (or return it to) its alcove, I am usually buzzed by a nesting momma who worries that my intentions are not altogether honorable. All the while that she imagines I pose a threat to her babies, she squawks and displays – in a desperate attempt to drive me away. Considering our size differential, she qualifies as an extremely brave critter. And a very devoted parent.

Then there are the women who serve as mothers to animal companions. You know how it goes: When it comes to pets, men are buddies (partners in crime, usually). But women become Mom. So it is in our family. I am Janna’s pal. Her playmate.

Sure, Pam is chummy with J-Bear too. But she’s also the “Mommy Dog.” And, as such, has duties. Motherly duties. And she takes those responsibilities seriously; she fulfills them faithfully.

As a consequence of her complex and special relationship with Janna, Pam lives and dies with her daughter’s treatment – the way any mom would. When Janna makes a new friend (human or animal) in the neighborhood, Pam is happy for her. But when some thoughtless person mutters, “Look: there’s a mean dog,” Pam is wounded – every bit as much as if Janna were her human child. (Janna is a Rottweiler mix. And some folks prejudge dogs they same way they do people.)

Christina – “mother” to Kane – certainly knows how Pam feels. Her canine child is a Pit Bull. A very sweet one. But folks in her neighborhood (some of them, anyway) display the same bigotry that Pam runs into. And it hurts.

Most mothers would do anything for their children. It’s their nature. They prove it, day after day after day. Human mothers. Animal mothers. All mothers. Each one loves, nurtures, protects, and defends her “little ones.” Even after they stop being so little.

On the occasion of my wife’s grandmother’s funeral, the deceased’s daughter (Pam’s mom) tearfully remarked: “There’s nothing like a mother.” Amen.

Copyright © 2009 Michael F. Murray -- All rights reserved.