Ommi ma

On the occasion of Mother's Day, please allow me to digress. My favourite two mother varieties in cinema and literature can possibly be represented by Harvey Fierstein's Jewish mother (Aren't Maltese and Jewish mothers frighteningly similar?) interpreted so magnificently by Anne Bancroft in Torch Song Trilogy and by the thoroughly selfish mother in Jacqueline Wilson's The Illustrated Mum. I would like to point out that this fascination with strong matriarchs probably says more about me than it does about my mother.

I've bought Wilson's book for my niece, hoping my sister wouldn't mistake it for a direct criticism of her mothering skills. In the excerpt below it's the mother's birthday and the children make her a card in the shape of a marigold.

Marigold gave us both big hugs and said we were darlings but her great green eyes filled with tears.

'So why are you crying?' I said.

'She's crying because she's happy,' said Star. 'Aren't you, Marigold?'

'Mm,' said Marigold. She sniffed hard and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She was shaking but she managed a smile. 'There. I've stopped crying now, Dol, OK?'

It wasn't OK. She cried on and off all day. She cried when she listened to the Emerald City CD because she said it reminded her of old times. She cried when I combed her hair out specially and twisted it up into a chic pleat with her new green clasp.

'God, look at my neck! It's getting all wrinkly,' she said. She touched the taut white skin worriedly while we did our best to reassure her. 'I look so old.'

'You're not old at all. You're young,' said Star.

'Thirty-three,' Marigold said gloomily. 'I wish you hadn't written that right slap bang in the middle of your card, darling. I can't believe thirty-three. That was the age Jesus was when he died, did you know that?'

Marigold knew lots about the Bible because she was once in a Church Home.

'Thirty-three,' she kept murmuring. 'He tried so hard too. He liked kids, he liked bad women, he stuck up for all the alternative people. He'd have been so cool. And what did they do? They stuck him up on a cross and tortured him to death.'

'Marigold,' Star said sharply. 'Look at Dol's card.'

'Oh yes, darling, it's lovely,' Marigold said. She blinked at it. 'What's it meant to be?'

'Oh, it's stupid. It's all a mess,' I said.

'It's all the things you like most,' said Star.

'That's beautiful,' said Marigold, looking and looking at it. Then she started crying again.

'Marigold!'

'I'm sorry. It's just it makes me feel so awful. Look at the pub and the high heels and the sexy tops. These aren't mumsie things. Dol should have drawn . . . I don't know, a kitten and a pretty frock and . . . and Marks and Spencer's. That's what mums like.'

'It's not what you like and you're my mum,' I said.

To all mothers, including those who do not fit in a straightjacket definition of family, I salute you.