Motherhood is a simple biological fact. One that encompasses the condition of a woman — or, I suppose nowadays, a person of any gender identification — who gives birth to a baby. Or adopts a child. Or becomes a foster parent. Or enters into an ad hoc care relationship with a younger dependent.
Not so simple after all.
Reminding us that motherhood is also a social construct. Traditionally wrapped up with duty — a mother must care for her, or their, baby; the child, grown, is then obligated to care for its mother, if need be. That’s only fair.
The details, however, shift according to age group, religious affiliation, geographical location. Should mothers stay home and focus entirely on their children? Work full time at demanding careers? Both?
The image also shifts over time.
When I was young, the popular motherhood cliche retained a whiff of the prairie. Put an old lady in a coal scuttle bonnet, give her some knitting and sit her in a rocking chair, and the image said, “Mother.” Words were not necessary. Think James McNeill Whistler’s “Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1 (Portrait of the Artist’s Mother).”
Our impressions of motherhood today often come not from paintings, but from commercials — think of all those women lunging after spills, their faces twisted in horror. Then there is “Strong,” a commercial that Ohio consumer products manufacturer Procter & Gamble ran in conjunction with the 2016 Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro. Every Mother’s Day I post “Strong” on my mother’s Facebook page, and it’s the rare commercial that I’ll sometimes call up and watch for pleasure, the way you’d watch a movie. If you have access to YouTube, I suggest you go watch it now.
Created by Wieden+Kennedy, a global, independent creative agency, the “Strong” spot grabs you in its first second, both visually and aurally. The opening scene is the back of a little girl, frozen, transfixed in horror at an angry tornado churning up the horizon. A siren wails.
After three seconds, we are with that same girl, now a gymnast, modulating her breath at the Olympic games as the siren blends into the roar of the crowd. And we’re off ... over the next two minutes, the commercial tells four stories across a range of athletes across a spectrum of nationalities — the American gymnast, a Brazilian volleyball player, a Chinese diver and a German runner. In 59 tightly edited scenes — yes, I counted. Not a second wasted.
We see the mothers comforting the young athletes with words that carry double meanings. “Everything is alright,” the German mother says, as their plane is buffeted, her face a mask of repressed fear. “It was just a little turbulence.” By the time that line is delivered, the runner is stretching before his race. My favorite moment involves street toughs in a Brazilian favela. “Hey, babe,” one calls, as the volleyball player’s mother wraps a protective arm around her and casts a withering glare backward. “Where are you going? Where are you going?” By the time that second question is out, we see exactly where: the Olympics.
All four are victorious. They joyously thank their mothers, coming full circle, leading to the tagline: “It takes someone strong / to make someone strong / Thank you, Mom.” And then a quick flash of Procter & Gamble’s big gun products: Tide, Bounty, Pampers” and such.
That would be my only criticism — I’d give a lot for an alternate commercial where every contender loses, and we see the athletes fail, one after the other: topple off the balance beam, return into the net, enter the water wrong and face plant in the dirt. The moms of losers loved them too.
On that note, I don’t need to ask Sigmund Freud why I keep watching that commercial. Because the truth is, some of us are strong because our mothers were strong, and others are strong because our mothers were not. And the truth is, as Hemingway wrote, “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”
Mother’s Day is not a trophy for winning, but for participation. A day to remember your mom as kindly as you can, and visit her — or them — if you are lucky enough to have one around. Go with flowers in hand, an “Everything’s fine!” smile firmly set on your face. And it must have been fine, because look at you now, fully functioning, almost, happy, or happy-ish, visiting your mother. She must have done well. Or well enough. Or not well at all, but you forgave her anyway.
