Happy Mother's Day (I've Cast A Lot Of Stones)

There's a park where I walk on the weekends, one of those suburban California parks with canyons and trees and squirrels and jays and a rippling creek and grassy playgrounds and shady picnic tables. In the summer there are barbeques and birthday parties and squeals of laughter, and in the winter only joggers and middle-aged amblers such as me, donning our sweatshirts and running shoes and determinedly trying to clear chloresterol-clogged arteries.

And if you walk there often enough you always notice the kids down by the creek, and you always notice them doing the exact same thing. In fact, I bet you that there has never been a kid born who, when standing by a creek, or a river, or any body of water for that matter, doesn't immediately throw a rock in it. You've probably noticed it too, and it makes no difference if it's a boy or a girl. A small stone at first perhaps (ploop!), then another bigger one (plop!), and then, if the kid is big enough, a great, big, granite-like boulder of a rock is pried loose and thrown in (Gagoosh!).

So, I was asking myself as I walked by, why is it that a child can't look at a creek without throwing a rock in it? It's weird, isn't it? It's got to be something psychological, something to do with the developing brain - some kind of neural growth or synaptic connection that can only form when throwing large heavy objects into water and listening for the sounds. It has to be something central and primal within us because all kids do it, and for the most part only kids do it. I mean it's pretty rare to see a father or mother do it, and honestly, when's the last time you saw grandma pick up a 10 pound boulder and chuck it in the stream.

And yet, what better way to spend Mother's Day than to take the kids to the park and watch them play in the creek. Just let 'em romp and splash and strike terror into the heart of tadpoles and minnows. Mama's little angels.

My mother, of course, passed away 5 years ago and I was there in the room with her when she died. I'm not trying to be dramatic here - lot's of people have gone through the same thing, but it did take me a long time to come to terms with those last moments. You know, that whole "was I a good son" thing, and that gnawing sense of uncertainty I got from not really knowing what her last judgement of me was before she passed on, knowing that it couldn't be a good one as I relived every transgression, every forgetfulness, and every lack of consideration I'd ever shown her. You know as you go through life you don't always stop to notice every detail, but I'm telling ya' it's those things you've left hanging, those obligations you've never tended to that will wind up haunting you in the end.

But it's been 5 years now and there's nothing I can do about any of that now. So, happy Mother's Day mom, and I'm sorry for all the grief I caused you. Sorry for the time I set the field on fire, sorry for the time I got sent to the principals office for fighting, sorry for the other time I got sent to the principle's office for fighting, sorry for the time I cut P.E. for an entire school year and almost didn't get to graduate junior high school, sorry for the time I got caught stealing hall passes from Miss Zoria's desk, sorry I never cleaned my room, sorry for the time I forgot to pick you up at the airport, sorry for playing my guitar in my room with the amp turned all the way up, sorry for...

I sure did cause you a lot of grief, didn't I? And geez, that was only the things you knew about. Well, Happy Mothers Day just the same.