Mom

It's Mother's Day. My 13-year-old daughter and I got up early to buy her Mom some flowers, muffins, and tropical fruits for breakfast in bed. One of her brothers went out and got her a latte. Her other brother had had a sleepover with friends at my house and was still asleep while we shopped.

Hours later, I was helping the sleepy one with his math homework. Once again, I relived the oft-experienced parenting lesson of math. Stay patient, persistent, and remember that it's all logical.

The latte brother put on his sunglasses and mixed his Mom some music on some blank CDs I'd gotten him at Walgreen's. Our daughter worked on her project, which involves constructing a 3D representation of the concept of atheism. (Maybe I'll photograph that one to better explain what she came up with...)

The choice of atheism on her part was interesting. She had options. She could have chosen a religion. Although we've rarely spoken about the idea of god or gods, my sense is she is developing a scientific rationalism as her philosophy, one closely aligned with her vegetarianism and opposition to cruelty to animals.

For my part, I never wish to argue with those who believe in a god. It seems like a nice way to find comfort in this confusing world, and of course they may well be right. Maybe there is some sort of supernatural presence out there. I'm the last one to know. Plus the ritual of prayer is good, on many levels.

Prayer implies humility. I pray daily even though I am not sure what entity I am praying to. I'm praying, simply, to preserve hope and to request protection. I hope this an okay thing for an atheist to do.

As far as I'm concerned, belief and faith have always been good things as long as they don't become excuses to impose your ideas on others. That missionary impulse is utterly unacceptable. Simple humility at the wonder of life is lovely.

***

My mother believed in God. She was a Christian. She found comfort in her religion, and I was always happy for her that her faith was helpful.

The photo above was from before I came on this scene. My Dad is behind her in the photo, during a visitation in World War Two.

Sometimes, people ask why and how I became interested in teaching memoir writing. It happened early in 2002 when my Mom started taking a "life story" course in Michigan. Half a year later, she passed away, but not before leaving her four kids some priceless memories.

That's why I teach memoir writing.

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