We have been unabashedly sobbing at our desks over these Mother’s Day videos. We especially loved the tender way the young men talked about their Moms, so we decided to ask a few of the guys on our writing and editorial staff to tell us some Mother’s Day stories, too.
When I think of the things I treasure most about my mother, the theme that always comes up is openness. Whether it is the way she opens her home, with her wonderful gift of hospitality, or whether it is the way she opens her heart, with a willing ear and a shoulder to lean on…through the years I have seen countless people welcomed in our home, at our table, and in our lives because of her generous spirit of openness.
I love that about my mom. That’s the kind of person I want to be. That’s the kind of home I want to make. My mother’s openness to people, to different ideas and new experiences means so much to me. It means that I am happiest when I’m generous toward others, and it means that I’m most alive when I’m trying new things.
Openness is perhaps the most precious gift my mom has given me, and I don’t think she even knows it. Perhaps I should tell her.
My mom is the walking, talking, hugging embodiment of selfless love. Whenever I need her, she’s there, no matter what. I’ve asked her to do things that would make most people look at me like I’m a crazy person, and she always, always comes through. (And if she thinks I’m a crazy person, which is totally possible, she hasn’t mentioned it yet.)
I feel like I’m a priority to my mom. She’s the one who showed me how good it is to know that when you need somebody, you’ll always have somebody. She’s been giving that gift to me my whole life—the peace that comes with knowing I’m never all on my own. And now I want more than anything to do the same thing for my seven-month-old son.
Mom, you encouraged me to pursue my passions, even when it meant becoming an English major. You pushed me to be my best and still loved me when my best wasn’t the best. You watched me make mistakes and let me learn from them. You proofread papers, sat through 16,492 sporting events, listened to way more choral music than you probably wanted to, and filled out scholarship applications I probably should have done myself. There is just no possible way I’d be the person I am today if it weren’t for you. I’m really thankful that you’re my mom. And I hope you know that I love you a lot.
Mama, my success is not my own. I’m able to achieve because I stand on the foundation of your love. You looked into me and saw something worth believing in, long before I believed in myself. I was a shy little boy—I needed a dream protector. And, thankfully, I got you.
You knew life could be mean, so you made sure I was well-loved before you sent me out into the world. Now I wear your affections daily. Your infinite “I love you’s” shield me from hurt and harm. When something tries to tear me down—to convince me that I’m less than—I don’t let it. Because my mama said that I am somebody, and I know my mama wouldn’t lie.
You prepared me for survival.
You taught me how to chew: with my mouth closed. You taught me how to pray: sincerely, and at least twice a day. You taught me what love does: It’s active compassion, even in times of inconvenience.
Your love stood over a hot stove to cook me something to eat after you’d just spent all day at work. Your love listened to me go on about my problems when you had troubles of your own. Your love worked and saved. Your love hugged and held. Your love got loud and put me in my place whenever I stepped out of line.
You made sacrifices just so I could have a chance at having a chance.
Mama, you are majestic to me. Lovely and strong. You are everything I could ever want in a mother.
I thank you. I love you. Forever.
Lettering by Pete Noth, Virginia Sembower, and Barb Mizik.
What do you love about your mom?