Only A Mother

Bob Schieffer
Milton Berle used to tell the story of how his mother saw all his performances, led the laughter, stared down those who didn't laugh and once, when a drunk in the audience made a pass at her, did nothing until he finished his act.

She wasn't about to draw attention away from her son, but once he left the stage, she pummeled the man with her fists and bit him.

Only a mother.

And don't all of us remember a similar story about our own mothers who always found a way to give us the credit and to be proud of us, no matter what the situation.

Most of us remember the love but we sometimes forget the work that mothers do. Being a mom requires, first of all, time. Not the so-called "quality time," but unending time that comes from putting the kids first.

I know a mom with two pre-teen sons whose recent Saturday schedule included five separate games — three soccer matches, two baseball games.

I know a mother of two teenagers who says, "I love baseball but there are so many games I sometimes pray for rain."

I know a new mother of twins who says, "This would be easy if I could just get one night of uninterrupted sleep," but she knows that is years away.

And none of them would trade their lives for any other.

What mothers know of love, others can only surmise.

So on Mother's Day we take a break from the news to say thanks and to wish them happiness, a good night's rest and the joy that comes from the occasional summer rain.

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