Mother's Day. Where did it come from and why?

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Mother’s Day 2022

Mother’s Day. Where did it come from and why?

 

Mother’s Day was intended as a motherly celebration of the mother of a family, or motherhood, and of the influence of mothers on society. The American version of Mother’s Day was initiated by Anna Jarvis as a worship service at Andrew’s Methodist Episcopal Church in Virginia in the early twentieth century. Like so many things, its original purpose is marred by brash commercialization and extended on to Father’s Day, Grandparent’s Day, Sibling’s Day, etc.

Nevertheless, Anna Jarvis was not the first person to recognize the lofty role of motherhood. Many centuries ago there was the Greek cult Cybele, the Greek goddess Rhea, the Roman holiday Hilaria to honor Cybele, and the list goes on to pagan and/or astronomical goddesses who were recognized for motherhood.

Personally, on Mother's day, I pause to remember the role of my mom and my wife.

Mother was born Mildred Mack Martin in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri. Orphaned at a young age and with a high school diploma, she “…went to the city,” to find a job. That was Kansas City, Missouri. It was there that she met a handsome young man with a similar background. Seth LeRoy Nichols also was orphaned at a young age, and with only an 8th-grade education, “…went to the city” where he found work in the slaughterhouses along the banks of the Missouri River.

As fate would have it, they met through a common friend, dated, and married. I was the 4^th of their five children. But I was different. I was the runt of the litter—a severe asthmatic who needed constant care. Being a good mom, she looked after me day and night, summers and winters, year after year until we settled in Arizona where I was free from asthma…thanks to my loving parents.

Many years later, it was my turn to find a wonderful young lass, and I did it over the Thanksgiving holiday of 1962. Gwendolyon Hamilton and I met by chance as we toured the Christmas lights in downtown Tucson. We married one year later in her hometown, Denton, Texas.

 

I will always have warm memories of Gwen mothering our youngsters, Jennifer and James—born in 1970 and 1975. Being raised by a teacher and becoming a teacher herself, Gwen lavished our little one with books, especially bedtime stories.  

 

I can see those nights so clearly now, many decades later. There was Dan Freeman’s “Corduroy,” Munroe Leaf’s “The Story of Ferdinand,” and maybe their favorite, “Where the Wild Things Are,” by Maurice Sendak.

May the saintly role of mothers live on forever. They are worth it.