Journal of the Motherhood Initiative for Research and Community Involvement (JMI - York University)

Backes, Nancy

Book Reviews 
Boy Crazy: 
Remembering Adolescence, Therapies and Dreams 
Janet Sayers 
London and New York: Routledge, 1998 
Reviewed by Nancy Backes 
Anglican and American cultures are boy crazy, as Janet Sayers convincingly 
argues in her most recent book. In support of her conclusions Sayers, a 
practicing psychoanalyst in London, draws on fictions, as well as the stories of 
patients, friends and colleagues, and graduate, undergraduate, and secondary 
school students. To  her credit, Sayers treats all stories as representations of 
truth. Indeed, Sayers implicitly states her faith in the primacy of story and notes 
the disasters, such as schizophrenia and suicide, that erupt when the story 
cannot be told and the truth cannot surface. Sayers uses these stories to 
elucidate the destruction and unhappiness of our "boy crazy" culture. And in the 
end she theorizes how "girl sanity" might supplant boy craziness, although this 
is no self-help book. 
Change will come from a return to the improperly resolved conflicts of 
adolescence, the source of the "intensification of masculinity." For in these 
adolescent conficts, Sayers argues, boy craziness-male valorization-takes 
root and sustains our androcentric culture. Crucial to our understanding, she 
says, is an examination of adolescent boys' internal conflicts, which Sayers 
points out, are particularly acute. Adolescent boys experience divisions of mind 
and body, truth and falsehood, past and present, fantasy and reality, love and 
sex-in short, conflicts that are internal. Adolescent girls, on the other hand, 
experience a love and hate division toward their mothers and others-conflicts 
mbre external and relational. Girls simultaneously see their mothers as gender 
models and as having achieved but secondary status in the world, cause for both 
celebration and resentment on their parts for their becoming like their mothers. 
Both sexes, however, escape the torment of these divisions through, as Sayers 
puts it, '"boy crazily' aggrandising themselves or others as gods, heroes, or 
saviors" (104). Boys look to heroes: rock stars and superheroes, or fantasize 
themselves as heroes, thus firmly reinforcing male-dominated culture; girls 
look to romance with boys as a way out of their conflicting feelings, thus 
reinforcing male-dominated culture. 
The men in Sayers's study report their great distress at being separated 
from their mothers in childhood, usually around the age of eight, when many 
were sent to boarding school. Their distress is great enough to carrywith them 
all their lives; Sayers's observation here questions conventional wisdom pur- 
veyed by thinkers such as Freud, Jung, and Peter Blos who insist that separation 
Journal ofthe Association for Research on Mothering 1 203 
Book Reviews 
from the mother is necessary for the development of masculine identity. (The 
flaws in Sayers's book-a general lack of racial, cultural, and class distinctions; 
ignoring cultural institutions; a failure to include the subjectivity of the mother; 
flabby sentences, despite the graceful transitions between ideas-pale in 
comparison to this courageous challenge.) Once the relational union with the 
mother is rent, the sense of division between authenticity and inauthenticity, 
mind and body, develops and persists. In adolescence, for instance, boys resist 
emotional expression, which they associate with their mothers, in favor of 
expression of action: yet another splitting. Some psychoanalysts, however, 
notably John Bowlby, D. W. Winnicott, and Wilfred Bion, stress the impor- 
tance of the child's emotional closeness to the mother, and her role in receiving, 
converting, and containing all that is frightening to him, much as Sayers 
advocates therapists do. 
Awareness of the conflicts, followed by re-integration of the extreme, 
conflicting emotions-re-containing them-is the key for therapists and 
others. In adulthood, this enables the telling of a new story based on a newly 
integrated past. The result will be community and closeness rather than 
individuals divided from themselves. For in the place of an androcentric 
society's valorization of false gods, heroes, and saviors, new feminist therapies 
and their resulting stories will locate the mother: a mother from whom it is not 
necessary to separate spiritually, socially, and psychically. 
Girl Rearing: Memoir of a Girlhood Gone Astray 
Marcia Aldrich 
New York: W. W. Norton and Co., 1998 
Reviewed by Marion Gold 
Every word in Marcia Aldrich's memoir holds the promise that girlhood and 
growing up to maturity in a gendered, segmented societywill be a struggle. Yet 
there is a note of sweetness about the innocence of childhood spent at the 
bottom of the garden, secreted away from prying adult eyes. This is the tale of 
a mother thwarted by her last child, a daughter who will not be molded into 
conformity. 
Aldrich exposes women's rites de passage of marriage and child rearing in 
the 50s as devoid of meaning and through her expressive language, holds it up 
for readers to contemplate but not to ridicule. These women, not unlike her 
mother, ensconced in their cages of conformity, sought to imprison their 
daughters within those same narrow confines. 
From the inauspicious circumstances of her birth in the alley, in the back 
204 1 Volume 2, Number I 


English

Boy Crazy: Remembering Adolescence, Therapies and Dreams

McCabe, Gail

Gail McCabe 
A Mother's Embrace 
Today I went through the sewing things 
A lifetime of threads, and pins 
Knitting needles and crochet hooks 
Coloured yarns, embroidery silks 
My mother's making things. 
I don't know what function 
each spike performed 
The bone handled hook or the latchet. 
Stitch counters in plastic profusion 
Lost in the time when these were tools 
Of  a craft I only observed 
at her knee. 
Did I do that? I can barely remember 
Barely recall an attachment 
Blocked in the pain of passionate heat 
Of anger and disappointment, regret 
At what might have been 
Could we but forget our stance, our position, our game. 
Today I went through the sewing things 
She doesn't use any more 
The circular hoop that made hats 
or shawls 
Anonymous articles 
18 1 Volume 2, Number 2 
Lost in a lifetime of woven cloth 
A coat of many colours, she 
wrapped round 
her self hidden within 
worn out by time and trial 
Worn out with the life of pain 
of disappointment in us all 
of regret that repeats the pattern 
she wove up in a life of deceit 
self-deception 
Yet, I remember the life of the wool 
As it pulled through her fingers 
Threaded there 
Nimbly clacking and clicking 
a life of its own woven up 
Today I went through the sewing things 
Trophies of talents she denied 
and disowned 
Memorials and warnings of what can become 
In time's being what can't be undone 
What to do now but encase them 
Like artist's creations enshrined 
Creations unborn but the tools 
linger on 
Testify, witness, spy and frame up 
The creator gone too, a shadow, a shell 
And today I browse through, I clean up 
I wrap up, I fold and I fidget 
with these 
Things which are memories of people 
Things which are people 
Things to be put away in their places 
People too put aside 
Placed away 
Rejected 
Despised 
But inside, heart's inside 
Soul's inside 
Journal ofthe Association for Research on Mothering 1 19 
Hidden inside . . . a revelation of me 
Sometimes, when I'm weary, I lie wrapped 
around in a cover, she 
made for me 
A patchwork of myriad colours, 
designs and 
possibilities 
A mother's embrace 
Well, once I remembered none 
20 1 Volume 2, Number 2 


A Mother’s Embrace

Gold, Marion Stichman

Marion Gold 
A Personal Reflection on 
Mothers and Sons 
"Come to the edge," he said. 
They said, 'We are afraid." 
"Come to the edge," he said. 
They came. 
He pushed them 
And they flew. 
-Apollinaire 
In the beginning 
Mothers are assigned the difficult and heavy responsibility of rearing sons and 
daughters perfectly and we are held accountable for any acting-out that our 
children express even into their mature adulthood. But even before that, we 
believe that it is our duty, our obligation, to bear the children in the first place. 
Then, the onus is always on us, the enablers, to get it right the first time. We 
delve into self-help books on how to raise daughters and sons, according to the 
ideology of the day. We even consult our mothers and grandmothers in weak 
moments. And we absorb the arguments put forth about permissive versus 
authoritarian child rearing practices, read books written by child psychologists 
and pediatricians as well as new mothers who want to share their recently 
discovered wisdom about mothers and sons, mothers and daughters, fathers 
and sons, fathers and daughters. We cite these experts and learn to rely on their 
words of wisdom and we learn to ignore our own innate sense about what is 
good for our children. We ignore the wisdom of women sitting around the 
kitchen table dispensing the wisdom of the ages. We neglect to establish our 
own comfort levels and parent as legitimately and appropriately as we can. And 
we forget to inculcate the accumulated knowledge contained in stories told to 
134 1 Volume 2, Number 1 
us by our friends, relatives, and colleagues so that we can create a bank of 
experiences from which we can all learn. When we do speak to the "experts," 
it is not in a sharing mode but as supplicants reaping the wisdom of the ages 
about the grand themes in life, not the nitty-gritty details that comprise our 
daily lives and which can drive us to unreasonable action. 
And in the hive ofbusy-ness that envelopes us, we forget that our ultimate 
goal, our ultimate challenge, is to push these babes who are no longer in 
swaddling to the edge and over and watch them fly. W e  need not forever be 
enslaved to the ideals of motherhood. 
After you are privileged to watch them soar to the heavens on the wings of 
their dreams, you can begin to reassemble the bits and pieces ofyour psyche and 
attempt to reclaim your identity as aperson in your own right. Slogging through 
the various stages of child rearing, beginning with that first magical moment 
when you see that beautiful baby, through the terrible twos, the toilet mouthed 
fours, to the day when you reread your journal and discover that you wanted to 
walk away from it all changes your persona. I do not believe that you can 
reconstruct yourself as you once were, but in many respects my past has been 
my prologue and I fall back all too easily into the nurturing, hectoring, advising 
motherhood stance I adapted during my twenties and thirties. The experience 
of motherhood leaves one changed beyond words and, at the same time, 
responding to adult sons and daughters as if theywere twelve. I t  can be difficult 
letting go, watching them fly and knowing that you can no longer reach out, 
catch them and bring them backtoyour bosom, to a simpler era, when theywere 
babes in swaddling drinking deeply their share of mother's milk. 
Narratives of experience mothering sons 
The poem, "Milestones in the Life of a Mother or on the Subject of Sons 
and Toilet Paper," was inspired by a coffee break conversation with a group of 
desperate working mothers. And it was related to giving up the good fight 
because it was all just too overwhelming. That particular day we spoke about 
personal hygiene and its absence as expressed by our sons deeply rooted 
aversions to water, soap, towels and toilet paper. Toilet paper?Yes, toilet paper! 
Milestones in the Life of a Mother 
Or 
On the Subject of Sons and Toilet Paper 
There are three washrooms 
In the house 
Count them 
three 
And toilet paper in only one 
The one that is 
Located 
Journal ofthe Association for Research on Mothering 1 135 
In my bedroom 
Opposite the walk-in closet. 
Does no one use 
Toilet paper? 
Do you pray that 
You will have 
The good luck 
To  find a crumbled 
Tissue or two 
In one of your pockets 
After you have used the facilities? 
Or do you use the toilet 
The one 
In the master bedroom 
Opposite the walk-in closet 
Which always has toilet paper. 
There comes a time in the life of every mother when you remember the 
daily struggles to lead your son to the shower and a bar ofsoap and find yourself 
almost wishing them back again when sons discover pubescent charmers and 
the joys ofdaily showers. Your son now showers for hours or until the hot water 
tank is empty and his skin all wrinkled and prune-like in appearance. The 
telephone is always engaged and if you concede to requests for a second 
telephone line, you will find that your enterprising son will use your line for 
outgoing calls and his for incoming ones. My  daughter once answered the 
telephone only to have a female voice demand accusingly: "who are you?" She 
answered, "I'm his sister. Did you think he was a man of independent means, 
living alone?" 
The widespread introduction of personal computers and email does not 
really solve the telephone problem. Using email, should you have a computer 
and an email account, ties up the phone line as well unless, of course, you have 
a second line. Please refer to the incoming/outgoing call comments above. The 
situation can onlybecome more tryingwhen soninsists that he is doing research 
for a school project on the Internet, not on a chat line. He  is not that 
irresponsible! How can you deny him computer time when all he is trying to do 
is complete an assignment due tomorrow. After all, you do want him to succeed 
at his studies, don't you? 
About Sons and Girls 
You know your son has discovered girls 
When he takes showers unbidden 
And uses at least a half bottle of cologne 
136 / Volume 2, Number 1 
A Personal Reflection on Mothers and Sons 
Or after-shave lotion 
Reeking of budding manhood 
You know your son has discovered girls 
When he changes his name to 
A uni-syllabic grunt 
Symbolizing teen-age angst and machismo 
You know your son has discovered girls 
When he dashes to answer the telephone 
With the bound and flourish 
Of an Olympic runner 
Striving to reach the finishing line tape 
At the end of the 100 metre race. 
Testosterone Surges 
This is the story of the fight 
Between two brothers 
The story of the fight 
And the broken hand 
Two brothers circling each other 
As boxers do 
Searching for the chink 
In the armour 
That sliver of space 
Between the upraised circle of arms 
T o  reach out 
And punch the other 
In the head 
One reached out with a long hard jab 
The other did not duck quickly enough 
The jabber did not make a proper fist 
He  broke his thumb! 
The jabbee danced away 
Laughing 
Dancing away 
From the glancing blow 
T o  his head 
Horrified 
I asked 
Journal ofthe Associationfor Research on Mothering 1 137 
Marion Gold 
"how could you do this to your brother? 
He, of the bad fist, replied 
"very easily" 
The doctor taping the splint 
T o  the broken thumb 
Disdainful of my horror 
Pronounced 
"It is easy to see that you had no brothers." 
Decision-making 
Reflecting on my oft-stated mantra that my role as a mother was to teach 
my children to live independent lives, leave home relatively guilt free, and, as 
the bible states, leave parents behind and cleave unto a partner so closely that 
it is as ifyou were one flesh reveals something less than honesty on my part. A t  
the time I believed that bravely stating that my goal as a mother was to teach 
my sons and daughters to become independent adults who would make their 
own decisions in their lives would actually ensure a smooth transition from 
childhood to independent, mature, appropriately-behaved adulthood. My 
entire being, my raison d'ktre became my children. I had swallowed the myth 
of natural mothering and the enabling woman. 
With the impetus to be the perfect mother, I pushed awayfrom my mother 
and constructed myselfas this paragon ofvirtue, industry, and love-the perfect 
mother. And I began the process of teaching my children to make choices, 
responsible decisions; I made a promise to myselfthat I would not control their 
every action. I would let go, when that magic release time arrived. 
I remember beginning the teaching of decision-making by affording them 
a choice. "Will it be orange juice or will it be apple juice? Wi it be in the blue 
plastic or the yellow cup?" That reallywas not an exercise in decision-malung, 
but rather clever manipulation on my part. 
"If you can get up in the morning without me waking you up to go to 
school, you can stay up as late as you want. If I have to wake you up, I set the 
bedtime hour, but you can read in bed for a half hour before lights out." Well, 
we all know the outcome of that little exercise in parental control. Yet I held on 
to the illusion that I was teaching them responsibility, how to be independent, 
and how to make appropriate decisions. 
Eventually something happened that pushed my theorizing to the edge 
and over. It was my friend's older sister who finally pushed me to the edge of 
that perimeter so that I might witness the first solo flight of my two oldest sons 
into the skies of adulthood. It  was also my induction into trust, trusting my 
children to tell the truth about their experiences, believing them and recogniz- 
ing the legitimacy of their claims to justice. 
Both boys had been sent to their first ever sleepover camp and it had not 
been a good experience. The older one asked that I take him home on visiting 
day because he was not feeling well. I knew that if I took the older one home, 
138 1 Volume 2, Number 1 
A Personal Rej7ection on Mothers and Sons 
I would have to take the younger as well. So I doubted both of them. 
"How old do they have to be before they can tell you the truth?" their sister 
asked of me. "How old do they have to be before you will believe them?" 
With these words ringing in my ears plus her exhortation that I not be like 
our parents, I was prepared to take my sons home on visiting day. My first 
glance at my son's swollen face and body, disfigured by both poison oak and 
poison ivy, with superimposed huge welts delivered by mosquito bites on the 
network of rash covering his body left me limp and weeping. The camp nurse 
confirmed that no doctor had been called in to treat him. I took them home! 
My Three Sons 
And 
My Two Daughters 
My three sons 
And my two daughters 
Became a team 
But as they grew 
Older 
Their dreams 
Their aspirations 
Their goals 
Changed 
And 
Each developed 
According to a 
Master Plan 
Certainly not 
My Master Plan 
But 
According to their own 
Master Plan 
Yet I remember 
With fondness 
Their earliest dreams 
Of becoming 
Mommies and daddies 
And especially the 
Dream 
Of one 
Independent 
Non-conformist 
Sister 
Journal ofthe Association for Research on Mothering 1 139 
Marion Gold 
Who wanted to 
Grow up 
T o  be a 
Dinosaur! 
About grandsons 
Only children have no one to blame for things that go wrong about the 
house, unless, of course, they have a pet dog or cat. Children with siblings are 
especially advantaged when it comes to denying responsibility or even knowl- 
edge of a misdemeanor. My son telephoned me to inform me that his son had 
learned two wonderful new words, words that would help in deflecting anger, 
blame and avoid responsibility for his own behaviour. That telephone call was 
the inspiration for the poem "About my Youngest Grandson." 
About my Youngest Grandson 
My youngest grandson 
Blessed with 
Three older sisters 
Has learned the 
Two most important words 
In the English language 
Words that will 
Stand him in good stead 
Words that 
He can lean on to sustain him 
For many years to come. 
What are these magical two words? 
Not me! 
Who put the empty ice cream container back in the freezer? 
Not me! 
Who emptied the last drop of milk from the last container? 
Not me! 
Who filled up an entire sink with glasses 
Soiled and stained by mere tap water? 
Not me! 
Who filled the sink with dirty dishes? 
Not me! 
Who is going to put them in the dishwasher? 
Not me! 
About grandmothers 
Now that I am pursuing a doctorate in education, I am asked why, at this 
140 1 Volume 2, Number I 
A Personal ReJertion on Mothers and Sons 
stage in my life, I decided to challenge myself in this way. "What will you do 
with it?" "How will it enhance your life?" My answer could be phrased rudely 
or I could draw upon the words in The Ethics of Our Fathers and paraphrase 
Hillel. "Why not me, and if not now, when." I submit the following in answer 
to the paraphrased Hillel and in answer to another question, "What are you 
going to be when you grow up?" 
ReJIections on Being a Grandmother 
Now that I am a gandmother 
And working toward 
Becoming a crone 
I count ten gandchildren 
Soon to be eleven 
Who call me 
Grandmother. 
Now that I am a gandmother 
And working toward 
Becoming a crone 
I know that I 
Shall wear red 
And I shall wear purple 
And I shall 
Grow old 
Outrageously 
Graciously 
As the poet said, 
"I grow old. 
I grow old. 
I shall wear my trousers rolled." 
Now that I am a grandmother 
And working toward 
Becoming a crone 
I shall 
Study forever 
Write forever 
And learn from books 
And learn even more 
From living and experiencing 
This life 
My life 
Journal oftbe Association for Research on Mothering / 141 
Marion Gold 
And the lives 
Of other women 
Around me 
And I shall 
Enjoy 
My grandsons three 
Sons of the oldest daughter 
And my grandson 
Who is the 
Youngest son 
Of my middle son 
And 
Listen to them 
Rail against their 
Collective six sisters. 
Doomed to be 
Outmanoevred 
manipulated 
How much sympathy 
Can I extend to them? 
For my heart lies 
With their sisters 
Final Reflections 
Reflecting upon what was, I can only state that1 honestly tried to raise sons 
and daughters to maturity as free thinking adults who would not be tainted by 
the gender binary. My template was not modeled after that old nursery rhyme 
that teaches us that little boys are made of "snips and snails and puppy dog tails" 
while little girls made of "sugar and spice and everything nice." M y  girls never 
wore pink frilly dresses and my sons were placed in the same pink bunting bag 
for the first weeks of their lives that their sisters used. Throughout my early 
childhood, my grandmother raised me in a fatherless home while my mother 
worked as a sportswear operator on Spadina Avenue in Toronto in the heart of 
what was then the "shmatta" trade. I understood that women worked, relied on 
their own good efforts and was taught by my grandmother not to await the 
knight in shining armor to arrive at the front door. 
Nevertheless, that gender binary insinuated itself into my very being 
through thevessels ofpopular culture and I, too, at times, wanted sturdy, manly 
sons who were sometimes heroic. I accepted the responsibility for child rearing 
as a given in motherhood, although I also understood, or rather intuited, that 
patriarchy's reach was all-pervasive and made it my imperative to demonstrate 
that women do matter. As a result, not onlydo my sons cook, sew, wash clothes 
and clean house, they are supportive of their wives' careers and understand the 
pressures that are brought to bear on a woman's self/selves through the 
142 1 Volume 2, Number 1 
A Personal Reflection on Mothers and Sons 
multiplicity of roles thrust upon her. One of my daughter-in-laws who is 
abloom with child speaks about the blessing of my son's calm nature. (This is 
the one who broke his thumb making a bad fist.) Their pregnancy has been 
eased by his calm demeanor. 
And finally I come to the end of this reflection on Mothers and Sons and 
Mothers and Daughters, unable to pass on words of wisdom about my 
experiences raising five children. I can only share my narratives of experience 
with you and1 can share my understanding ofwhat I perceived, what I thought 
was the truth. But, all truth is fiction. 
Finally.. . 
This is the end. 
There isn't anymore 
I have to say 
About sons 
But to say 
That 
They grow up 
And move 
Out of the house 
And come back 
T o  the house 
And move 
Out of the house 
And 
Come back 
T o  visit 
With their girlfriends 
Who become 
Their CO-vivants 
Who become 
Their wives 
And eventually 
They bring 
Their children. 
And there isn't anything 
More that 
Can be said. 
Reprise 
As a woman who married "up," I bear the label "privileged."Yet the ethnic 
diversity from whence I came has influenced my life's choices and I have always 
worked in an enabling profession. I stayed the course of femaleness through 
Journal ofthe Assoriationfor Research on Mothering 1 143 
Marion Gold 
early marriage in the silent fifties, child bearing and rearing in the sixties, feeling 
that I had missed something. My sons, the beneficiaries of my privileged status, 
have positions in the "sexy" areas of computers and information management. 
Each has two degrees and one is working on a third one. Whatever influence 
I have had on them is now part of their own persona and I can do no more. 
Having babies is no longer a consequence of marriage and I am no longer 
capable ofhaving babies. I no longer need bear the responsibilityfor other men's 
, choices or desires. I love my sons and daughters deeply, but am offended by 
some of their decisions. I am still learning to let go, still learning that, as 
Adrienne Rich maintains in Of Woman Born, altruistic maternity is a cultural 
construct and not a biological imperative. Now that I am swimming in the 
stream of glorious cronehood, I wish to be free of the responsibilities of 
motherhood; I wish to throw off the shackles of conventional wisdom that has 
informed me 10 these many years that being a mother is a life choice forever and 
ever. 
Ultimately the most liberating 
Piece of information a woman 
Could have is that her infant can 
Attach to anyone. 
-Erik Hesse, 1996 
144 ( Volume 2, Number 1 


A Personal Reflection on Mothers and Sons

Beauchamp, Anna

Book Reviews 
Section two, "Law and Single Parents" considers the legal framework that 
hinders single parents, notably mothers, from overcoming obstacles that 
negatively impact on their lives and opportunities for their children. Here, 
Dowd presents a balanced view of the strengths of the single parent family and 
the unique resources that single parents can offer to all parents. The laws ofthe 
United States (and through inference, other industrialized Western countries) 
foster the negative stigmatization of all single parent families. Dowd, however, 
recognizes that single parents can be positive role models for children and 
society. Utilizing the historical, cultural, and situational realities of black single 
mothers, she describes alternative family structures, not as deviant but as 
valuable. 
In the section on "Law Reform," Dowd offers alternative policies for 
single-parent families and legal strategies to challenge the limitations imposed 
on single-parent families. Here she writes, "Although we have shified away 
from this [traditional] model, we have not yet articulated an alternative model. 
Our notions of equality no longer allow for presumed gender-based assignment 
of family roles, nor for the limitation of workplace opportunities." 
As a family therapist and researcher who examines parental roles, I was 
hopeful but wary when reading this book. Dowd writes, however, with 
remarkable precision as she details the realities of the single parent experience. 
This she does without glamorizing, demonizing, martyring, or vilifying single 
parents or traditional families. She recognizes that the traditional two-parent 
family, like society, has changed - it is time we looked at our structures, laws, 
and attitudes that, through omission or commission, have ignored these 
changes. In Defense of Single-Parent Families is a thoroughly researched work 
that defends single-parent families. I strongly recommend it. 
Mother Nature: 
A History of Mothers, Infants, and Natural Selection 
Sarah Blaffer Hrdy 
New York: Pantheon Books, 1999. 
Reviewed by Anna Beauchamp 
The past few decades have witnessed a long, pointless, and ill-informed debate 
over whether or not women have "maternal instincts." Given the historical 
context, the battle lines were understandable. The early literature on the 
biology of motherhood was built on patriarchal assumptions introduced by 
earlier generations of moralists. What was essentiallywishful thinking on their 
partwas substituted for objective observation. I t  has taken along time to correct 
these errors and revise old biases, to "raise Darwin's consciousness" and widen 
the evolutionary paradigm to include both sexes. (Blaffer Hrdy, 535) 
242 1 Volume 2, Number 2 
Book Reviews 
In M0therNature:AHisto y oJMothers, Infants, andNatural Selection, Sarah 
Blaffer Hrdy sets out an expansive account of the current state of research in 
anthropology, psychology, and sociobiology, about why mothers do what they 
do. Studies in the behaviour and biochemistry ofboth humans and animals, as 
well as historical assessments of mothering behaviour in distinctive social and 
cultural situations, point to a fresh understanding of the state of motherhood. 
Blaffer Hrdygoes one step further and examines new evidence surrounding the 
behaviour of infants that suggests that the child actually plays a significant role 
in molding the mother's actions to suit its needs. In effect, "Babies are geared 
to making sure that maternal care is forthcoming and ongoing" (536). Impor- 
tantly, babies appear, in the long run, to be more interested in the quality of the 
care they receive than they are in who provides it. Blaffer Hrdy writes 
extensively about the crucial role of "alloparents," individuals other than the 
child's who provide care. In modern human society we call these 
individuals daycare workers, babysitters, grandparents, and so forth. I t  is 
refreshing to see, however, that alloparenting is not an exclusively human 
phenomenon. She cites primate studies in which data from groups, who 
practiced infant sharing, are compared with groups who did not. 'Babies born 
to infant-sharers grow at a faster rate, and ... their mothers give birth again after 
much shorter intervals without compromising their own health or infant 
survival. Crudely put, mothers with good daycare had the highest fertility rates" 
(448). 
Mother Nature is a dense, academic work which covers a vast array of 
research in careful, footnoted prose. At the same time, however, Blaffer Hrdy 
succeeds in presenting a readable text that is comfortably accessible to the 
layperson, and often highly entertaining. BlafYer Hrdy models capably the 
feminist academic paradigm of placing the person of the researcher visibly in 
the workwithout compromising the scientific validity of the work. Sometimes 
reading a book will make me want to teach a course in which I could use it as 
a textbook. Other times reading a bookwill make me want to rush out and buy 
more copies so I can give them to friends for their reading enjoyment. Mother 
Nature is the first book that has ever made me want to do both. 
Childhood in America 
Paula S. Fass and Mary Ann Mason, editors 
New York New York University Press, 2000 
Reviewed by Sarah V. Young 
The editors of the text, Childhood in America, have made a superb contribution 
to the area of children's history, a field of research which generally has been 
Journal ofthe Association for Research on Mothering 1 243 


Mother Nature: A History of Mothers, Infants, and Natural Selection

Bernard, Candace

Bernard, Wanda Thomas

Epko, Chioma

Enang, Josephine

Joseph, Bertlyn

Wane, Njoki

"She Who Learns Teaches": Othermothering in the Academy

Kuwabong, Dannabang

Book Reviews 
These may be found in the writing of Quebec authors Nicole Houde 
(chapter five), Anne HCbert (chapter six), France ThCoret (chapter seven), 
Madeleine Gagnon, Louky Bersianik, Jovette Marchessault (chapter eight), 
Jovette Bernier, Monique LaRue, Julie Stanton, Madeleine Ouellette- 
Michalska, (chapter nine), Elise Turcotte (chapter 10) and finally, 
(in)concluding, Ying Chen. Together, these writers represent a substantial 
selection of Quebec literature, and Saint-Martin's study of their work provides 
readers with important insights into this literary corpus. 
Le Nom de la Mire is a valuable study. Saint-Martin writes clearly about 
complex issues and draws due attention to significant writing by women. Most 
of all, she creates critical awareness of a topic too often reduced to simplistic 
readings or no reading at all. The mother-daughter relationship is at the heart 
of women's identity formation and literary expression. 
In Silence the Strands Unravel 
Sybil Seaforth 
Hamilton: Capricornus Enterprises, 1999 
Reviewed by Dannabang Kuwabong 
Sybil Seaforth once wrote that "a writer of fiction does not . . . write to convert, 
to disturb, to instruct, to reassure, or to challenge readers" (134), but to have her 
muted experiences heard. She states that her priorities as awriter are to develop 
a "lucid, simple, euphonic, vivid, sensitive, and harmonious" style in order to 
achieve a balance between emotion and logic (138) and to validate Caribbean 
women's experiences that have been "expressly denied" (139) in Caribbean 
literature. In her recent and fourth novel, In Silence the Strands Unravel, 
published by an up-and-coming Capricornus Enterprises, Seaforth seeks to 
achieve these priorities. The novel ironically also disturbs, instructs, and 
challenges the reader (especially the male reader) in the opening scenes with 
vivid representations of betrayals in husband /wife relationships by husbands 
among middle-class, middle-aged couples. 
The main thrust of the novel centres around the latent consequences of 
middle-class, well-educated, Caribbean women's choices of marriage over 
careers. The novel explores the experiences of four friends, Jessica, Norma, 
Ruth, and Dora, and hence dramatises what Leota S. Lawrence in "Women in 
Caribbean Literature: The African Presence" theorized as the deliberate 
stifling of women's "pretensions to a career, lest in doing so she outshines her 
Journal ofthe Association for Research on Mothering / 209 
Book Reviews 
male counterpart and thereby ends up an 'old m a i d  (4). Thus, the novel opens 
with Jessica falling into the trap of self-annihilation in the name offulfilling the 
Victorian ideal of the role ofwoman learnt in school and church. Thirty years 
later, she realizes her mistake as Lionel, her husband, loses interest in her and 
takes another woman. Jessica's story is a replication of similar stories. The fates 
of these four women also instruct middle-class Caribbean women to be more 
aware of the material and psychoemotional dangers to which they open 
themselves when they choose romantic love, marriage, and service to husbands 
over personal development and careers. 
The novel also dramatizes the nature ofwomen's friendship and bonding. 
I t  is sisterhood that enables the four characters to survive their marital tragedies, 
and helps them to construct alternatives. To  reflect the complex nature of the 
experiences and relationships, Seaforth engages a splendid array of devices 
including dairy entries, letters, interior monologue, direct and free indirect 
discourses, flashbacks, and animated descriptions in alanguage that is lucid in 
its artistic simplicity. Through this collage of movements, Seaforth has created 
a collaborative piece in a style that aspires to collective lamentation through 
storytelling. The novel does not give voice to men, but it sufficiently explores 
the consequences of the gaps and silence created by mens' actions. 
Seaforth, however, redeems the novel from the syndrome of female 
victimization in marriage through a demonstrated narrative capacity for 
balance between emotional and analytic perspectives, and between major and 
subplots. The subnarratives involving Ian and Amy, and the reconciliation of 
Norma and Dexter, enable the reader to see another side of the picture. This 
anticipates and eliminates any narrow representation or reading of this novel, 
where the men are stereotyped as villains and the women as suffering angels. 
I t  is a narrative ofpersonal rediscoveries bywomen later on inlife. Seaforth may 
be saying it is never too late for women, caught in the loop of a bad marriage, 
to wriggle out and breathe. She disturbs the smug comfort of both men and 
women entangled in the game of marriage. 
Part of the growing corpus of literary works by African woman writers, 
In Silence the Strands Unravel creates aesthetic delight and difference by 
synthesizing theory and narrative. Sometimes, however, the over-enthusiastic 
pursuit of psychoanalytic and Euro-American feminist theories hampers the 
flow of narrative, unless we read some ironic twists into the engagement of 
these theories by the four characters to analyse the probable causes of their 
predicaments. Seaforth may be suggesting that these women's tragedies are 
influenced by their inability to negotiate the polarities between their imme- 
diate cultural location from which they seem estranged and the Euro-Ameri- 
can notions of ideal wifehood by which they have been betrayed. In Silence the 
Strands Unravel will make a good addition to courses in women's studies, 
literature by women, and Caribbean literatures. I t  is a novel of the future with 
a positive ending. 
I highly recommend it. 
210 ( Volume 2, Number 1 
Book Reviews 
References 
Lawrence, S. Leota. 'Women in Caribbean Literature: The African Presence." 
Pbylon. 44 (1983): 4 
Seaforth, Sybil. "Writing Fiction." Caribbean Women Writers: Essaysfirn the 
First International Conference. Ed. Selwyn R. Cudjoe. Wellesley, Massa- 
chusetts: Calaloux Publications, 1990. 134-39. 
Jewish Mothers Tell their Stories: 
Acts of Love and Courage 
CO-edited by Rachel Josefowitz Siegel, Ellen Cole 
and Susan Steinberg-Oren 
(forthcoming, Haworth Press, May, 2000) 
The book contains a rich and varied collection of personal essays 
written by contemporary Jewish mothers from different parts of the 
globe. These stories reveal the choices Jewish mothers make in our 
post-Holocaust, non-Jewish world-the many ways of being or 
becoming Jewish, the acts of loving and letting go, of preserving and 
celebrating Jewish traditions and spirituality, of transmitting Jewish 
customs and rituals to their children and families. 
Initiated by Susan Steinberg-Oren, 
this is the third book in a series on Jewish women CO-edited by 
Rachel Josefowitz Siegel and Ellen Cole. 
The previous books are: 
Seen But not Heard:Jewish Women in Therapy 
and 
Celebrating the Lives ofJewish Women: 
Patterns in a Feminist Sampler. 
Journal ofthe Assoriation for Research on Mothering 1 211 


In Silence the Strands Unravel

Hagan, Anna

Anna Hagan 
Just Me and My Boy 
Going Fishing 
The sun came up as it does most days in Provincetown, through a cool misty 
fog that gets burned off by 10:OO a.m. My four-year-old son and I had plans to 
go deep sea fishing that day at 1:00 p.m. I'm not sure who was more excited, 
or, for what reason. Somehow, I thought we may just have been there for the 
boat ride. 
I crammed his already too large frame into my baby seat on the back of my 
bike and offwe went, whizzing past the sand dunes. The pale sand sparkled in 
the sun and we both reveled in the sheer joy of our surroundings, of being alive 
and free together. As we approached the designated pier, we saw a large crowd 
gathered around the beach. Surely there were more than 200 people, looking 
most distressed. I had to blink three times to be sure what we saw, was really 
there before us. A large blackwhale, beached. Periodically blowing through the 
blow hole, it looked at us all mournfully. I had seen many whales out in the 
ocean and this one looked small comparatively. I was sure it was a baby whale 
and panicked immediately. Where was it's mother and why was it here? The 
whale suddenly became my baby, and I cried. 
"The Coast Guard has towed him out three times, he keeps coming back 
and bashing himself on the boats in the harbor" a man said as we stood paralyzed 
looking at the magnificent creaturewith his smooth underbelly. "He's aMincke 
whale, not a baby, just an old guy coming in to die" the man said again, as if 
he read my minds questions. I stood and looked at the crowd and the concern 
in their eyes. A young boy continually bathed and splashed the whale with 
water, from his little yellow beach bucket. Of the hundreds of people there that 
day, there was one man I will never forget. 
The sadness on his face, the pain in his eyes, the despair in his soul was so 
plainly evident to me. I stood transfued, sear&ing every deeply etched wrinkle 
Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering 1 125 
and gray hair he had. I cannot describe why I stared at this man so long except 
perhaps only to realize what he displayed so blatantly, felt so deeply. Death 
lurked above us and I felt unsettled. 
My son, uncomfortable with the tragedy, and perhaps frightened by the 
fact that all these adults could do nothing for this helpless creature, yanked on 
my arm, asking thatwe not"1ook" at the whale any longer. I looked down at him 
weeping and I too felt the bitter sting of salt on my sunburned face as the tears 
rolled down my face effortlessly, like the endless slapping of the sea to shore. 
The blast of our fishing boats' horn jolted me from the trance, jerking me 
suddenly away from the whale and my focus on it's demise, my young son's 
innocence lost as he stood also helpless in the face of the whale. The boat was 
signaling its departure and I swiftly swept my son into my arms, holding on 
tight for a hug that we both needed. We had witnessed something bigger, of 
which we could not comprehend. We were left there speechless in the face of 
mother-nature. As we had reveled in the beauty ofthe dunes and ocean, we sat 
in horror within the same moment questioning the reality of lifes cycle and 
rebirth. I knew my son could comprehend the magnitude of this event and I 
looked at him with pride, as we had shared this horrible moment together. I 
could think of no one else but him that my soul could have survived such an 
assault. I still had him, I thought as he asked many questions. Many ofwhich 
I could not answer but again I reveled in being his mother. 
We climbed aboard and within minutes we were in the depths ofthe ocean. 
Nothing else around us. We were both enormouslyrelieved to be away from the 
beached whale. We were together, and happyjust to be. We caught no fish, but 
shared a lot of smiles and hugs. Quite honestly, I don't think either ofus could 
bear to have caught one anyway! Five hours later our boat docked and we smiled 
as the skipper threw bait to the seagulls who flew deftly to catch the minute 
morsels of clam. 
The sun was going down and the whale, gone. My daughter and spouse 
waved madly from the pier, having missed us on our long journey. My  heart 
warmed as I saw their smiling faces. The ocean and my young son, cleansed my 
soul of despair that day. I think back to that feeling frequently and remember 
the tranquillity and feeling of being one with my son, the ocean and nature. 
Sometimes when I can't sleep I think of the quiet but dull, constant hum of the 
foghorn, at the lighthouse we saw jutting out of the rocks near the pier. There 
is no lullaby on earth that puts me to sleep faster than the memory of that sound 
and just me and my boy going fishing. 
126 1 Volume 2, Number 1 


Just Me and My Boy Going Fishing

Willey, Nicole

Book Reviews 
Our Families, Our Values: 
Snapshots of Queer Kinship 
Robert E. Goss and Amy Adams Squire Strongheart, Eds. 
New York: Harrington Park Press, 1997 
Reviewed by Nicole Willey 
If only this bookwere in the library of every so-called "family valuen proponent. 
With 20 articles in sections titled "Procreative Privilege," "Families ofchoice," 
and "Relationships: Trials and Tribulations," this anthology puts homophobic 
lawmakers and Biblical scholars to shame. The articles, often personal and 
usually academic (if not in tone, in research), blend experience and scholarship 
to raise important questions that challenge anyone who has a stake in the types 
of relationships in which all humans are enmeshed. 
The "Lavendar Tribe," here defined as "transgendered, transexual, bi- 
sexual, lesbian, gay, a person with AIDS or one who loves any of us," and their 
kinship/friendship/family ties are the basis for this study. The "Triben is put 
forth as a "people" with common interests and bonds, and then deconstructed 
by questioning of how such a diverse group could possibly share (or would want 
to share) common values. While this question is interesting, and perhaps 
unsolvable, as many show (see Nancy Wilson and Victoria Kolakowski as two 
examples of a direct answer), basic human rights are at issue. T o  my mind, the 
more interesting challenge that this collection poses is why would the "Triben 
want "family" as it is currently defined by a patriarchal and heterosexual culture? 
The right to and desire for kinship is never a question. Rather, it is the 
structure and naming of the "family" that many writers in this anthology 
question. Robert Goss makes an extensive argument for "procreativity" as a 
right that all people have. He also challenges us not to assimilate the nuclear 
model of family, but to "queern the idea of family. Brad Wishon believes that 
queer relationships and families are teaching the way ofliberation to all couples, 
creating a paradigm that can give liberation to heterosexual couples as well. 
Mary Hunt questions the very idea of couples, making it clear that until any 
family of choice is accepted (regardless of number of adults and sexual 
connections) no one is safe from the tyranny of "normative sexuality." She 
believes that any partnership including two adults, same-sex or not, can become 
another version of the heterosexual model, further entrenching patriarchal 
patterns. Questions of assimilation to patriarchal structures are further compli- 
cated by issues of race and AIDS (see especially Mary Foulke, Renee Hill, 
Richard Hardy, and Jane Spahr). 
The real question for this reader, addressed onlyin passing, is why is the 
Judeo-Christian Bible and its traditions are the main force these authors are 
deconstructing, thereby proclaiming it as normative? True, Buddhism is 
248 1 Volume 2, Number 2 
Book Reviews 
engaged by Michael Sweet, and Joseph Kramer discusses alternate rituals for 
gay men, but the Bible is the main rallying force behind these essays. As Mona 
West explains in the opening to her essay: 'Whether or not we consider 
ourselves religious, and whether or not we consider the Bible to be the inspired 
word of God, our reality is that the Bible is used against the Queer community 
to condemn our lifestyles, exclude us from religious communities, perpetuate 
violence against us, and deny our basic human rights" (51). Point taken, but the 
Judeo-Christian focus of this book may alienate some readers. On the other 
hand, these scholars collective re-reading of the Bible may be appreciated. 
Overall, any problems with individual arguments are counteracted by 
other essays, and this is what makes an anthology of this kind work. The 
editors, Goss and Amy Adams Squire Strongheart, have carefully included a 
wide variety of perspectives that the reader will find refreshing and informative. 
Thinking About the Baby: 
Gender and Transitions into Parenthood 
Susan Walzer 
Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998 
Reviewed by Wendy Faith 
This bracingly incisive book focuses a sociological lens on the gender polariza- 
tion between heterosexual spouses that coincides in American culture with the 
onset of parenting. Through a study of interview data from fifty new mothers 
and fathers, Susan Walzer reveals that parents unwittingly replicate Victorian- 
based images of motherhood and fatherhood that persist in the tacit sentiments 
of older family members, the clichkd messages of television programs, and the 
patent advice of baby-care "experts." Reinforced by gendered wage disparity, 
these images promote the idea that child-rearing is the primary responsibility 
of mothers while only an auxiliary activity of fathers. 
By accentuating the numerous social pressures that help to shape parental 
consciousness, Walzer smartly debunks the humanistic assumption that mater- 
nal and paternal divisions of labour are reasonably negotiated between self- 
determining partners. She contrarily maintains that parents- "driven by 
complex feelings of accountability, anxiety, insecurity, and entitlement" - 
rationalize the preexistent "models of mothers as ever-present nurturers and of 
fathers as providers and part-time playmates." Especially commendable is her 
analysis of these roles, which circumvents the tiresome nature versus nurture 
polemic. While accepting in principle the claim that gestational, hormonal, and 
Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering 1 249 


Our Families, Our Values: Snapshots of Queer Kinship

Kruk, Laurie

Book Reviews 
Wonderful Ways to be a Stepparent 
Judy Ford and Anna Chase 
Berkeley, California: Conari Press, 1999. 
Reviewed by Laurie Kruk 
If to parent is to struggle with the need to be everythingteacher, counsellor, 
nurse/doctor, disciplinarian, chauffeur, handyperson-stepparenting creates 
the opposite challenge, one of "stepping" back, watching and waiting as you 
develop aunique rapportwith your stepchild. I have learned this much as a step- 
mother. The changing state of our society means that stepfamilies are on the 
rise, no longer anomalies or oddities but it can still feel pretty weird at times. 
The experience of being the "other" adult-neither Mom nor Dad, friend nor 
foe (though maybe feeling like both)-brought into their world by remarriage 
inspires a hunger to fill the void of experience with the words ofthose who have 
"been there." 
So I was eager to read this book, and discover Wonderfirl Ways t o  be a 
Stepparent. It is one of a series created by Judy Ford, family therapist and the 
author of Wonderful Ways t o  Love a Child and Wonderfirl Ways to be a Family. 
Packaged in a hand-size format, this bookechoes a "self-help" bestseller, Don't 
Sweat the SmallStu$ in form, philosophy, and depth. The text is divided into 
three parts: Part I, Relating toyourself; Part 11, Dealing with Your Spouse; and 
Part 111, Interacting with the Kids. Each part comprises 20-24 lessons, no 
longer than two pages. This structure reminds me of the triangle of interests 
that a stepfamilyrepresentsthe biological parent, the stepparent, and the kids 
who share their l ivesthough the symmetry ofthis book, its evocation ofa kind 
of equilateral triangulation where all sides are even, seems a bit simplistic. The 
sixty-four points have intriguing titles like "Give up Your Dream of the Perfect 
Family," "Keep the Kids Out of the Middle," "Fine-Tune Your Sense of 
Humour," "Talk, Talk, Talk to Your Partner," "Understand You're the Adult," 
"Do I t  Their Way When You Can," and "Say Something Positive About the 
Other Parent." They are bite-sized summaries of advice, which contain useful 
observations about the challenges ofbringing each side ofthe triangle together, 
largely drawn from stepmother Anna Chase's experience. The language is 
upbeat and accessible, and "real life" anecdotes bring the theory to life. As the 
writers explain in the Introduction, "It is not our intention to sugarcoat the 
process of creating a blended family. But we do believe strongly that if you 
acknowledge the realities of the situation to yourself, your spouse, kids, and 
stepkids, and accentuate the positive, on the day-to-day level, you can have a 
wonderful relationship with your stepchildren and live in a house full oflove and 
laughter" (W). I have a bit of trouble with their claim of not "sugarcoating." 
Though many of the lessons are valuable, the very brevity of each seems to 
Journal oftbe Association for Research on Mothering 1 245 
Book Reviews 
underplay or deny the combined wisdom of therapist and stepmother. For 
instance, "Do a Two-Minute Reality Check" introduces a contemporary 
approach to dealing with those "evil stepmother/fathern emotions, where 
sittingl'with what is" becomes a way to the "emotional truth ofyour situation." 
For instance, "Oh, I'm hurt at getting no positive reinforcement from my 
stepchildren despite all I do for them; I'm angry at mywife's ex for not ponying 
up his share of the child support" (7). These are real issues. However, there is 
no discussion of how to share your "reality check" with your family-or even 
how to use it for your self-knowledge. I would have preferred more space 
devoted to the process of the "reality checkn; the decision to create sixty- four 
brief lessons, instead of expanding some of the book's more fundamental or 
difficult points, gives the text a slightly superficial feel. Perhaps this point-form 
method of presentation is designed to appeal to that very feeling of helplessness 
that the stepparent role can generate, by providing a lengthy checklist of things 
we can do, or do better. Or  perhaps this book is meant to be dipped into, at odd 
moments, for a bit of inspiration and illumination.There is a spiritual subtext 
to this work, aswe are uged to 'Search for the Soul Growth" in the stepparenting 
role, for "those of us who are stepparents have been given the special opportu- 
nity to grow our souls through the experience of interacting with and helping 
to carefor andguide someone else's childrenn (40). It is hard to argue with that-- 
however vaguely "New Age" the advice. I do agree that to find your role as a 
stepparent, you must recognize and put aside "smallness" on all levels. Despite 
its compression, this brief book is a first step towards a process of greater 
understanding of the complex nature of stepparenting in our age's self- 
conscious, "self-made" family. 
Lesbian Step Families: An Ethnography of Love 
Janet M. Wright 
New York: Harrington Park Press, 1998 
Reviewed by Dawn L. Comeau 
In Lesbian Step Families: An Ethnography oflove, Janet Wright, Assistant 
Professor and Chair of the Social Work Department at the University of 
Wisconsin, Whitewater, draws on personal experience as she explores a 
previously neglected area of research about lesbian families. Wright's book is 
based on her research for her dissertation: an ethnography of five lesbian step 
families. 
Wright defines a lesbian step family as "two women who self-define as 
lesbian, at least one of whom brings a child or children from a former 
246 1 Volume 2, Number 2 


Wonderful Ways to be a Stepparent

Porter, Marie

Marie Porter 
A Mother,Two Sons, 
Then Another 
I am the mother of three sons. Simple statement, but behind this simple 
statement is the story of half my life. It is a long and involved tale of a life lived 
on the edge of unknowing. It  too frequently descends into the darkness that 
exists where life meets death, where we stand waiting to meet the victor ofthese 
basic forces. Sounds a dramatic outcome from deciding to become a mother? 
I assure you it is not as dramatic as the reality. What follows is but a synopsis. 
Myprecious firstborn, David John, arrived in 1963. Itwas hewho gave me 
my mother identity, who caused the most extreme of feelings to wash over me, 
who had to cope while I learnt to mother. I loved this baby so much, (I 
remember crying just looking at his perfect little toes) but so much of the 
motherhood package roused intense negative feelings in me. I found being 
constantly responsible for another human being-one who couldn't even tell 
me if he was too cold, too hungry, overfed, sick or in pain-extremelywearing. 
I seemed to spend my time in a state of anxiety, of constantly questioning if I 
was "'doing it right." Besides I was a person who liked organization and had 
been a teacher whose days were routinized. I found it nigh on impossible to 
adjust to this babywith his unpredictable needs and wants. I t  did not help that 
David was highly allergic, sickregularly, and not a good feeder. Nor did it help 
that he was an advanced child who couldn'twait to achieve his milestones. The 
mother road, full of twists and bumps was both unfamiliar to me and being 
covered at breakneck speed with my baby son in the driver's seat. I do not know 
what I would have done without my mother and father and my mother-in-law. 
All three supported me. 
My precious second son, Bernard Thomas, arrived after I'd coped with two 
miscarriages. David was now a mature three-and-a-halfyear old. Bernard was 
a long thin baby who had a heartyappetite and good health. If he was well fed, 
114 1 Volume 2, Number l 
Happy Christmas, 25/12/1989 
he was content. No doubt much of the reason he was content was that I now 
was a mother. His elder brother had paved the way, making life easier for him. 
I had discarded my trainingwheels. Although Bernard was also a forward baby, 
he was different from David. He had an ability to make us all laugh. H e  did not 
seem to challenge me as David had done. However, I learned that on the 
occasions when he did he, he was not open to reason or distraction as David had 
been, but determinedly held onto his position while I had to think of a way to 
solve our confrontation and save both our faces. They were very different 
individuals. What worked for one certainlywas no guarantee it would work for 
the other. 
My husband and I decided to have a third child who was due to be born 
when David was six and Bernard was two-and-a-half. By now, I suppose if 
Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering I 115 
Marie Porter 
someone had asked me, I 
would have said I was an 
experienced mother. No 
doubt that was true. Sara 
Ruddick (1989) argues 
that maternal work con- 
sists of preserving, grow- 
ing, and training the 
young in social responsi- 
bility. My two sons were 
well on this road. 
Six weeks before my 
third baby was due, I 
wrote to my dose friend 
telling her of my fears for 
Anthony and I, September 1985. mybaby. This feelingwas 
newto me. Such fears had 
never entered my head during my other pregnancies. I had been worried about 
carrying Bernard because of the miscarriages, but I had no concerns about his 
"normality." My friend, the mother of five, replied in her usual practical way 
that ifthere was something wrong with the baby1 was carrying, worrying about 
it for six weeks wouldn't help. 
My precious third son, Anthony Gerard, arrived after a short easy labour. 
This was heaven in comparison to the previous traumatic labours and births. 
Anthony, at eight pounds, was larger than his eldest brother, and smaller than 
Bernard. He was a beautiful baby. It  puzzled me at the time, and still puzzles 
me, why, with this easy birth, I spent the next twenty-four hours crying. I had 
not descended into sadness after the others were born. Do  we sometimes 
"knod' the future on some inexplicable level? At  this stage there was no inkling 
of the problems ahead. Anthony wouldn't suck, but then neither had David in 
the first couple of days. 
I soon learned my beautiful third son was a nightmare to feed. He  couldn't 
suck enough to keep the nipple in his mouth. Finally, after ten days of 
persevering, I had injections to dry my milk. I was veryupset about this as I had 
breast fed my other sons. Bottle feedingwasn't a breeze either. I had to support 
Anthony's chin and put gentle pressure on his cheeks to enable him to suck. I 
kept insisting something must be wrong with this supposedly big healthy baby. 
The doctors could find nothing. 
By six weeks, Anthony was back in hospital with the first of what was to 
become almost constant chest infections. It  was still a nightmare to feed him, 
as he coughed and sputtered and kept losing the grip on the teat. He  tired easily. 
He  "rattled" when he breathed. I needed all my professional and organizational 
- - 
skills and every bit ofexperience I had gained in my mothering of my other sons 
just to get through a day. My husband was running our busy business and I had 
116 1 Volume 2, Number 1 
A Mother, Two  Sons, Then Another 
Bernard at home all day. He seemed to mature over night and was a great help 
to me, young though he was. 
Because of my insistence that something must be wrong with my baby, 
while Anthony was in hospital on this first visit, he was thoroughly checked by 
both the family doctors and a specialist. The verdict? He was intellectuallyway 
ahead, but physically lagging. However, he was sick and I was used to forward 
babies. No problem. He'll be fine. 
I tried to believe this. Anthonywas certainly a beautiful baby with his dark 
brown eyes and eyebrows, long lush eyelashes and platinum hair. He was also 
a happy charismatic babywho loved people and drew them to himself, an ability 
he has honed over the years. However, he still "rattled" and feeding him was 
getting worse rather than better. Because he tired so easily, I was often feeding 
till late in the night to get an acceptable amount of formula into him. 
When Anthony was four months old, I took my three sons to visit the 
friend I'd confided in before Anthony was born. Deep down I think I was 
seeking the opinion of an experienced mother who, I knew, would be truthful 
with me, but who was not a family member constantly interacting with this 
baby. Anthony still had all his old problems and none of his muscles seemed to 
be working. He could not even hit a toy or hold his head at all. He also nowwas 
waking frequently at night covered in sweat and obviously in severe pain. This 
scenario was repeated during the day. (It was repeated for nine years until we 
discovered a urologist who was both interested and knowledgeable. The pain 
was due to urine retention and Anthonywas in danger of severe kidney damage. 
Under this doctor's expert and exploratory care, Anthonywas soon onlywahng 
about three times a night. We thought we were in heaven. He is still under the 
same urologist and his kidneys are still fine.) 
Both my friend and her doctor agreed there was a problem and soon we 
were in the State 
Capital city with a 
team of medical ex- 
perts investigating 
and testing Anthony 
in everypossibleway. 
Nobody could find 
anything wrong with 
him. This was a re- 
peating story even 
though i t  became 
more and more obvi- 
ous as Anthony grew 
older without physi- 
cally improving that 
something was des- 
Anthony and his two brothers, July 1984. perately&on8. FOUI 
Journal ofthe Association for Research on Mothering 1 11 7 
Marie Porter 
months later, when he still 
Off to Padua for the first time, 4 /64  981. 
hadn't improved physically, 
we were told he would not 
survive until his first birth- 
day. He  didn't have enough 
muscle tone to support life 
and would either choke or die 
of pneumonia. His one hope 
was that the doctors didn't 
know how he had survived so 
longwith so little muscle tone. 
He  must be very determined 
with a strong life force, they 
thought. W e  have 30 years of 
evidence that that is true. 
M y  husband was devas- 
tated at this news. For me 
whatwas being verbalized was 
what I already knew only too 
well from eight long months 
of reviving Anthony when he 
choked, listening to his chest 
rattle, and sit t in~with im in 
hospital while he struggled to live. The words were a relief in a way. Anthony's 
reality, my reality, the reality we lived with in our family, was being acknowl- 
edged at last. My main concern apart from keeping Anthony alive, was how to 
prepare my two older sons. They adored their little brother. I knew before I 
could prepare them I had to be able to cope myself. 
I drew on the wisdom of another mother, a mother whose story1 had read 
years before, whose name I could not remember, but whose wisdom had stayed 
with me. She also had had a child with a slim grip on life. She had told her 
children that their baby was not very strong and would not be in the family for 
long. All the family could do was enjoy him and make his stay as happy as 
possible. (And earlier this year Bernard said with a laugh, "And twenty-nine 
years later . . .?") My sons seemed to accept that story without too much fuss 
although every crisis worried them as it did us. 
That was my approach with my boys. My self approach was that I decided 
that when Anthony died it would not be because I was incompetent. I would 
preserve, grow, and train this child as I did my older two. I'd just have to learn 
more, be more efficient, and I must create a pattern to do this because the 
patterns of life on offer for disabled people that I saw in Australia in the 1970s 
were not good enough for my darling son with his many gifts. 
I never wanted to be a doctor or a nurse, but I learned to cope with heart 
failure, choking, and massive spasm attacks that could be fatal if not responded 
118 / Vo/ume 2, Number 1 
A Mother, T w o  Sons, Then Another 
to promptly and properly. I learned to do urinary catheters, chest percussion, 
mouth and throat suction, and so on it went, while all the time coping with 
cholung and chest infections. We all learned to rejoice in the many small 
victories and recover from the many crises quickly. Anthony was a great help 
as his wonderful optimistic nature and his determination to live was always 
there for us to draw on. For Anthony once he had survived a crisis, we'd best 
get on with life quickly before the next one hit. Most importantly, I loved my 
precious son and still do. That is not to say I do not equally love his brothers, 
but they have different needs especially now. 
David is now 36. He  has given me a great daughter-in-law, Bernardine, 
whom1 love dearly. Together they have presented our familywith three darling 
boys-Anthonfs precious nephews. David has a successful business and is a 
!gobd husband andfather. ~ e r i a r d ,  a successful barrister, 32 and has a partner 
whom we gladly welcomed into our family. Anthony is 30. He has been near 
death countless times. His disabilities became worse as he got older. He lost his 
ability to swallow, to make sound, the very limited function he had in his right 
index finger. He can no longer say or do anything, but he can communicate well 
with his vital brown eyes and also with his yeslno. He is fed through a tube. He  
was told a year ago that his lungs would be lucky to support life for another six 
months, but my smiling, determined son is still with us, enjoying his circum- 
scribed life. He listens patiently to, and sympathizes with, other people's 
problems despite the vastness of his own. He is the onlyperson I knowwho can 
throw a party with five days notice and have 85 people come. 
I am a mother of two sons, then another. Sara Ruddick put into words for 
me my own approach to mothering. I have preserved, grown, and trained my 
three sons into socially adept adults. As I cared for David, I became a mother. 
As I ca~ed for Bernard, I honed my skills. As I cared for Anthony, I ventured 
into a land of challenge, drama, and exhaustion beyond comprehension. 
Mothering was suffocatingly intense and complicated. I adapted what I had 
learned in mothering David and Bernard as best I could. As I look back now, 
I see that land as a war zone rather than a mother zone (Jackson, 1992). There 
were many casualties, we all carry scars, but out of the chaos new life emerged. 
We all have understanding, depths, and skills that have developed from the 
challenges we faced. I have been well supported by other mothers-family, 
friends, and acquaintances. As a result, I know so many strong, talented 
mothers. I have great respect for mothers. I t  is my dream to have society 
similarly recognize and respect the value of mothers and their motherwork. 
References 
Ruddick, Sara. Maternal Thinking. Boston: Beacon Press,1989. 
Jackson, Marni. The Mother Zone: Love, Sex Laundy in the Modern Family. 
Toronto: Macfarlane Walter and Ross, 1992. 
Journal ofthe Associationfor Research on Mothering 1 11 9 
