Ahead of me, an older Korean lady stood at the base of the stairs in the subway juggling her cane, handbag and wheeled shopping cart between her two hands as she contemplated the ascent in front of her. I approached her with a smile, shifting my own shopping bag to my other hand as I offered to assist her up the steps.“Oh thank you so much! Please, yes, thank you!” Her head bobbed with gratitude and her face lit up with wrinkled thanks.“No problem,” I smiled again as I transported her cart to the top of the staircase. “Would you like help to the street?” I addressed her again as she joined me by the exiting turnstiles.“Oh yes please! Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you!” Her head carried on bopping, her face never once retreating from constant smiles.We walked together towards the exiting flight of stairs, her white linen outfit wafting softly around her short frame, creating an air of peace as she moved. “You are a teacher?”I shook my head, “No”, then tried to think of a simple way to explain my occupation.She beat me to it with another enquiry, “You are a mother?”I smiled and shook my head again, “No, not yet.”“Ohhh, you have the face of a mother!” Her tone was that of an all-knowing seer, allowing no room for disagreement.“Thank you!” I responded with more smiles.Soon we were parting ways, as no more flights of stairs stood in between her and her home, and my long-legged strides quickly created half a block of distance.Her parting words stayed with me as I went about the rest of my day - answering emails, making my lunch, writing a blog entry and readying myself for an evening shift at work. She called me a mother. I have not yet experienced the delight and honour of carrying a baby in my womb but it is something I definitely have a desire to see happen in the not-too-distant future. So I do not yet know what it really means to be a mother. I have experienced having the heart of a mother but never before have I been told that I have the face of one. It felt profound to me, like there was some deeper, hidden meaning to her comment.At first I felt excited. Maybe she was someone who had a prophetic gift and could see me with children soon - little Joys and Phillips running around with big eyes and wide smiles! Then I pondered a little longer and was struck my another, more existential thought: what do our faces say about each of us? Do I really carry the look of a mother or was that merely a fleeting moment of warmth that I shared with a stranger? Shouldn’t we always carry the face of a mother or father to those around us, friend or foreigner?My husband has voiced similar thoughts to this over the past couple of years in response to the racial violence that has been unearthed afresh in America. Innocent black men and women have been subject to wrongful arrests, shootings and discrimination by both figures in authority as well as members of their local community. Would those stories still exist if those involved had treated each other like an extension of their family? Would those deaths have occurred if the one holding the gun had walked as a mother or father instead of a stranger with a subconscious fear of others? Do we walk around as mothers and fathers or as orphans just trying to protect our self?I hope I always wear the face of a mother and I hope that face is also connected to the heart of one.That dear Korean lady’s words have made an imprint on my heart and mind ever since our brief encounter. I have called myself into check several times when I’ve realised that I’ve drifted into murky territory in my attitude towards others, and let me tell you, it can be easily done living in NYC! But just because something is easy does not justify the action.Both my mum and mother-in-law are stella examples of women who embody the heart of family. I watch them both open their arms wide to people on a regular basis, that many of us would hope to be able to ignore, and they treat them as if they are their own. To me, this is what the face of a mother really looks like.
A Mother's Face
