Okay, scratch that.
This year, I do not want to call you “strong”. I choose to call you “normal”. And this normalcy is what I intend to celebrate on this day, the 11th of March. You see, I have since learnt to stop defining people by their level of strength. Please stay with me as I explain why.
Because to call someone strong is to praise how well they handled or are handling a situation they did not choose. And by affirming people’s strength, even with pure intentions, what we do is take away focus from the cause of their worries or what got them into said situation in the first place.
Mother, because when we call people strong, we are simply telling people that choking on this adjective of encouragement will neutralise all of their troubles. We tell them that it is fine to remain in tough situations because they are, you know, strong.
Mummy mi, it is why we must be wary of this defensive approach to life because often times, it traps people in a corner. A corner where people cannot speak; a corner where they cannot cry. But the worst happens when, having heard this adjective one too many times, people begin to see weakness as a sign of weakness.
Mother, I choose not to call you strong this year because when people are constantly reminded on the need to be strong all the time, they eventually start to forget that it is fine to crack; that it is okay to be weak. And finally, because strength, unlike kindness, is not a virtue — it is a reaction! I choose not to praise reactions — not the day before; not the day after; not on the day you were born.
So where was I?
Oh Yes! Celebrating normalcy.
As such, I prefer to celebrate how, in seven minutes, you can produce information on the amount spent on diesel in the second quarter of 2012. How, when you tell me how your day went, you effortlessly say things like: “ Today, the ferry left the jetty at 6:53 am; Or how the sky looked when you got to work at 8:07 am”. When people marvel at how much I retain details of our previous conversations, I just silently tell them to wait until they meet my mother.
Mother, I intend to focus on how you make it your mission to get the front row in the mosque on Sundays perhaps based on the benign belief that you must go home with the maximum blessings obtainable. Not that I have a problem with this, I mean I can live with the inconvenience that comes from rushing my breakfast on Sunday mornings. I just find it beautiful how gracefully you represent our family spiritually and how you encourage us to follow in your steps.
The Lagos heat does take its toll on us all and one can understand why anyone would want to sleep with the air-conditioner, the fan, or both, on. Problem is that the temperature drops late into the night, leaving the room a bit too cold for comfort. In no small measure, your nightly patrols have saved me from blocked nostrils in the morning more times than I care to remember. I guess it is true what they say: “that life does not come with a manual, but it sure does come with a mother”. I wish we focused more on these little things — these normal things.
Mother, I hope God keeps you. All these efforts, mighty or minute, you put in to keep us together will not be lost in time; neither would it be lost on me. I celebrate you today, not because of your strength; but because of the normal things. The ordinary things very likely to be overlooked in a world where only the extra-ordinary is recognised. 11th of March is about you, mother. 11th of March is about the normal things you do.
Let us keep it that way. Shall we?
To you, mother, the most-normal person I know
With love,
JB
Originally published on Medium