Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who came into our lives nearly three decades ago

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John Fountain and wife Monica with four of their five children and granddaughter during Monica’s 50th birthday celebration last year.

Damaged goods. Saddled with young children and a broken marriage, he felt like yesterday’s unrecyclable trash — until she came into their lives.

The 30-year-old divorcee had heard women talk about unmarriageable black men. Seen them chew up brothers before giving them half a chance and spit them out.

Not a good enough job or car. Not professional, sophisticated or cultured enough. Not enough formal education. Divorced. With babies …

OPINION

“Oh, my God, no babies! Girrrrl, he got babies,” (as in rhymes with rabies).

He was infected with both D and B — divorced and babies, three of them.

But she was not that way.

He met her on the job. They had exchanged niceties. They went out for lunch and dinner, dancing. She brought him miniature bags of white cheddar popcorn.

They began dating, even though she could plainly see that he was rough around the edges. Another thing she could always see was how much he loved his children.

There was that framed picture of his smiling little girl in a black and white dress with a red bow that he kept on his desk. There were the two adolescent sons he had shared his worries about. For all that he was or wasn’t, his children — and endeavoring to be a good dad — were essential to his soul.

He noticed that she was different. She never took issue with him saying he needed to do this or that for his children. Never seemed frustrated or impatient with him having to go here or there with his children.

She understood and agreed when he said he needed to move to a neighborhood with better schools. To hire a sitter, to go to parent-teacher conferences, to the laundry, to the doctor or the myriad other places where parental duty calls. In fact, she said, “How can I help you?”

She was young. Too young to play stepmother to his children, the eldest only 10 years her junior.

Besides she was just beginning a career. She was a fast tracker, smart, pretty, articulate, slender chocolate with the world at the tips of her long brown fingers.

And yet, when he proposed, she said, “Yes.”

Yes to marriage — insisting that his children take part in the ceremony. Yes to motherhood, which came in three supersized packages already unwrapped and with no warranty against the inevitable storms and salted tears that unfold in time. In time …

In time, his children grew into adults. But not before she had poured from her heart and soul into their lives and upbringing. Not before or without her choosing to take his daughter to the beautician instead of herself at times when there was only money enough for one head, not two.

Not before helping with homework and braiding hair, cooking meals and putting out fires. Loving, lifting, cheering, praying …

Not before parent-teacher conferences and doctors and dentists appointments and countless hours consoling and counseling. Not before sacrificing and withstanding the deluge of life, marriage and raising children. But through it all, she never complained.

Not one word.

“I am not your mother,” she had explained to his children from the beginning. “But I love you because I love your father. I will do anything I can to help you.”

She kept her promise.

And I am grateful to this woman. That woman filled with enough love to love my children long before she gave birth to ours — like so many other women who lovingly shoulder the often unenviable role of stepmother.

The woman who nearly three decades ago, came into our lives and has withstood my rough edges: My wife, Monica. Happy Mother’s Day.

Email: Author@johnwfountain.com

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