Happy Mothers (Mom's) Day...

It's no secret, I'm a bit of a basket-case around most holidays.

At Thanksgiving I tend to eat too much and dwell on the turkey-days I spent by myself, away from family and friends when I was still living in South Carolina. Christmastime is fun and festive, but it's still hard to separate it out from the hectic nature of the season, what with all the shopping and all. Halloween — my favorite holiday, by the way — just turns into an all-around blur of candy and costumes.

The one holiday I admittedly don't go all Orwellian during, however, is Mother's Day, that one time of the year when the world gives a collective nod to the women who have raised us, clothed and fed us.

Of course, one could argue the only reason I don't go all gorilla milkshake during Mother's Day is because, obviously, I'm not a mother (although there has been some debate on this topic ... however, I digress). I simply get to sit on the sideline, hand out some flowers, a card and my work, for the most part, is done.

Personally, I think it's another reason, altogether.

To get to the bottom of this mystery, you would have to go all the way back to April 1974, right here in the Crossroads of West Texas, where little ol' me was born. That's right, despite all the South Carolina and “Go Gamecocks” rhetoric — sorry, but I had to get a University of South Carolina reference in there ... they drive my dad nuts — I am, at heart, a Texas boy from birth.

And, if you could travel back in time to my birth, amid the sea of bell bottoms, nasty plaid polyester shirts and eight-track tapes, you would find a few interesting facts. First, I was an absolutely stunning, blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby — I know, I know, what the heck happened, right? — and second, the woman on the delivery table was not my mom.

You see, anyone can be a mother. That's simply a matter of biology. You know the story, the egg meets the sperm, creates an embryo ... voila, Darwin would be proud! It takes neither love nor common sense to be a mother, just the right circumstances and, often enough, a lack of birth control and forethought.

Now, being a mom, on the other hand, that's a totally different story.

You see, I'm adopted. I found this out when I was about 32 years old, shortly after a biological relative contacted me and spilled the proverbial beans. Let me tell you, it was an amazing experience, finding out ... My parents sat me down in their kitchen and told me the whole story.

So, finding out my mom and my mother weren't necessarily the same person was a bit of a challenge to deal with. However, after a few years of soul searching, I came to a few conclusions that not only helped me appreciate my mom more, it also changed the way I view Mother's Day.

First and foremost, your mother has no legal or moral obligation to love or care for you. In fact, much like in the animal kingdom, mothers can — and sometimes will — bring their young into this world, then drop them off at the nearest doorstep. If you're lucky, that doorstep will be attached to a church or fire station, not a liquor store, but, hey, some mothers are more thoughtful than others.

And, with that, you're on your own. Luckily, God is merciful — and apparently wise — because he made babies incredibly cute, making the likelihood a mom will happen along and fall in love with your cuteness that much more likely.

With that, a baby goes from their mother to their mom, which is a good thing, because mother is much more likely to leave the sitting in their own filth, starving to death. Mom, on the other hand, will not only clean them up, but entertain them, cuddle with them, keep them warm and love them.

That's why, in my opinion, a civilized, intelligent society would change the name of Mother's Day to Mom's Day. That's right. I think we need to stop celebrating the women who give birth — OK, so kudos to them, because if we guys had to go through child birth, our species would have gone extinct a long, long time ago — and start celebrating the women who do the real job of raising our children.

That's what my mom did. She raised me, from a little tiny thing to a grown man, she made sure I had everything I needed to succeed, whether it was material needs like clothes or food, or emotional necessities, like love and understanding. Bear in mind, it was dad who was earning a living to pay for all this, but it was mom who kept me from going to school looking like some kind of hippie from Mars.

Granted, I'm not a total ingrate. My mother gave me life. I have no idea how many hours she spent in labor and if the stories my sister told me as a kid about the delivery doctor being a veterinarian were true, then, well, I can't imagine my birth was pleasant for her. In fact, taking into account my personality, I imagine I was a pain, even then.

However, it was my mom who did everything else. It was my mom and dad who spent the sleepless nights — and days, from what I hear — with me when I was sick, who spent every nickel they had to their name to make sure I had what I needed to get by.

It's unfortunate when a child finds out they have a mother and not a mom. I was lucky because I found out after the fact. My daughter, on the other hand, hasn't been so lucky. However, it's these curve balls life throws us that make us into the people we are today. They make us stronger. They make us better parents later in life.

Thanks, mom, for always being there for me. Other kids may have just gotten the parents they got, but I know I was hand-picked, and if i could have picked my parents, I know I couldn't have picked anyone better than you.

Happy Mother's (Mom's) Day.