I  think about my mother all of the time but most especially around my son’s birthday. She died when he was six months old. My mom was a woman of uncommon strength with a deep concern for humanity. She believed in the American dream — opportunity for all who wanted a better life. She was a product of the American dream. Mom loved a good protest, voter registration drive or a lively dinner time political debate with family and friends. She believed that people could do small acts to heal the world. I remember thinking that I was glad she didn’t live to see the Iraq invasion. And I knew her pride in this country would have soared if she were able to vote in the Clinton-Obama Democratic primary. She, like me, would have been torn by the choice but thrilled that such a choice were even possible. And once Candidate Obama became President Obama, she would have cried at the ability of our nation to see past old prejudices.  And then she would worry about his safety. And then she would want to scold him for smoking. And she would be grateful for the opportunity to set a new course for our nation and the world.

Mom would not “get” blogging or twitter. She would say, “get up from the computer and see the world and do things”. And she would rail against the dangers of typing on those raspberry gadgets while walking on the street. (She was never good at names or idioms). I would say, “BLACKberry, Mom!!” And she would wave me off with a quick retort, “DEEEtails”.