What Is A Cup of Water

Mothering is "the act of bringing up a child."  It is also "the act of being like a mother," especially, according to the Oxford Dictionary, "to be caring, protective, and kind."

Fathering, on the other hand, is the paternal act of begetting progeny.  It is also "the act of bringing up a child as a father. " But what "as a father" means, the Oxford dictionary does not endeavor to explain.  We can only assume that the act of being a father cannot be described--it simply is. One might say, fathering is the fact of being a father.

Another way of looking at it is that younger generations may decide how they want the act of fathering to be described in future editions of the Oxford Dictionary.

Currently, I think of "mothering" as acts of nurturing and caring, and I think of "fathering" as animal husbandry.  With regard to humans, the word "fathering" is seldom used--perhaps because the definition is incomplete.

Semantics, you say?  Don't underestimate semantics.  I need only spend a few hours on Duolingo to see how language reveals culture.

French Duolingo:
"This cheese is superb."
"Everyone knows that his uncle is in love with her."
"Not that blue dress, please; the other one."

 Spanish Duolingo:
"The soccer game is this Saturday."
"Soccer is my favorite sport."
"That blue dress is too expensive [or cheap]."
"Juan, do you want to eat a sandwich?"

I haven't studied English as a second language, but I've studied it as my first language.

My English Duolingo:
"I'm going to the dog park."
"I'm going to feed the horses."
"What does today's weather look like?"
"Josh, have you done your homework?"
"I haven't thought about dinner."

Yes, semantics is a bullshit major, but language does have a way of reflecting something of our cultures and selves.

My mother lives 1200 miles away.  I miss her a great deal. I miss her jokes, laughter, and company. I miss her face. And I miss being mothered.

I live with my husband, who fathers my son--and sure enough, none of us are quite sure what that means.

And I live with my 16-yr old son.  A teenage boy is neither fathering nor mothering.

But when my son was little, if he found me feeling ill or distressed, a beatific expression would come over his dear little face, and he would offer me a cup of water.  Then he would bring me a cup of water.

I think he picked this up at school.  Students who become distressed or ill in school must receive concern in the form of a cup of water.

I remember thinking that it was a sweet impulse that my son had to bring me water, but I also wondered, Why does my son think that water cures everything?  Why did he associate every health event with dehydration?

But now, I realize: It wasn't the water, idiot! It was the mothering. It was the gesture of caring that was important.

When you think about it, this is as pure an act of mothering as there is--roughly equivalent to picking up a crying babe and applying it to one's breast.

My son went to school and someone taught him this beautiful act of kindness, which he learned to exercise reflexively, on every appropriate occasion. Mothering.

He's forgotten all that now. At 16. he's as befuddled as his father when it comes to TLC.

And, I'll admit it: Lately, I've needed a lot of TLC.

In November, I had a toothache, followed by a painful tooth extraction, followed by a painful condition called "dry socket."

In December, I woke up with inflamed knees--caused by sensitivity to injections of synovial fluid the previous day.  I had a few weeks of hobbling around on crutches and packing my knees in ice before I recovered.

Pain passes, but it can be a lonely and isolating experience.

And that's where mothering becomes so important.  Mothering is the cup of water, the cool hand on a hot forehead, the sugar in the medicine, the expressions of concern that make the pain tolerable, every discomfort easier to bear.

It has been a learning process, but, bit by bit, my husband has begun to understand, and to learn how to be mothering.

It wasn't easy for him to relate to my physical pain and suffering, because he is literally never sick.  Someone who never gets sick could be forgiven for believing that good health is simply a matter of strength of intention. Of mind over matter.  By that logic, the rest of us choose to become ill.  We induce illness, why?  To get attention, of course.  In that case, the obvious solution is to withhold attention.  Expressions of concern, any gesture of caring, will only contribute to the perverse motivations of the afflicted.

But even one most hardened by good fortune observes that a GI bug is not worth the chicken soup; nor does the inflammation that turns two knees into fire plugs seem a reasonable price to pay for getting out of chores.

My husband has come around.

Some might suggest that stoicism in the face of others' suffering describes the masculine style of parenting.  Where the Oxford English dictionary demurred, they might say that fathering is the training of children to become self-reliant.

But I think that relies too heavily on stereotypes of fatherhood that younger generations seem to be rejecting.

Not that there's anything wrong with self-reliance, but the act of withholding (fill in the blank: love, care, concern) is a default setting for most of us.

Just as it is easier to destroy than to create, it is easier not to nurture.  

Nurturing and concern require thoughtfulness, empathy, and action.

Mothering is always an inconvenience.

I have a friend, a young veteran whose military training taught her how to kill.  It taught her how to care for and use a gun, and how to kill another person without hesitation.  Her training changed her, she told me.  It turned her into a killer, which was something that she wasn't, before her army training.

But now, she has an alpaca.  He's silly and fun, and recently he became very ill with a meningeal parasite.  The veterinarian gave him a 50/50 chance of recovery.  Becka (not my friend's real name)  mothered her alpaca through his illness with the full burden of fear and hope that is a parent's lot.

The alpaca will recover.

In addition to the relief I know Becka feels, I think my friend must also feel the deep satisfaction of knowing that whatever else she is, she is also capable of caring and healing, even when the odds of success are only 50/50.

We have yet to decide what fathering means, but we know well what mothering is.  It is the chicken soup I bring to my friend.  It is the infrared lamp  that my friend holds over my knee. A phone call from my mother.  A cup of water from my son--the milk of human kindness.  A thing we can't live without--mothers, not least of all.