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<DIV>Not Just Another Mother</DIV>
<DIV>A few months ago when I was picking up the children at school,</DIV>
<DIV>another mother I knew well rushed up to me. Emily was fuming</DIV>
<DIV>with indignation.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>"Do you know what you and I are?" she demanded.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>Before I could answer, and I didn't really have one handy, she</DIV>
<DIV>blurted out the reason for her question.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>It seemed she had just returned from renewing her driver's</DIV>
<DIV>license at the County Clerk's office. Asked by the woman</DIV>
<DIV>recorder to state her occupation, Emily had hesitated, uncertain</DIV>
<DIV>how to classify herself.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "Do you have a job, or</DIV>
<DIV>are you just a .....?"</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>"I'm a mother."</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>"We don't list 'mother' as an occupation...</DIV>
<DIV>'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the</DIV>
<DIV>same situation, this time at our own Town Hall.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and</DIV>
<DIV>possessed of a high-sounding title like official Interrogator or</DIV>
<DIV>Town Registrar.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>"And what is your occupation?" she probed.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>What made me say it, I don't know. The words simply popped out.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>"I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and</DIV>
<DIV>Human Relations."</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up</DIV>
<DIV>as though she had not heard right.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant</DIV>
<DIV>words. Then I stared with wonder as my pompous pronouncement</DIV>
<DIV>was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you</DIV>
<DIV>do in your field?"</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself</DIV>
<DIV>reply, "I have a continuing program of research (what mother</DIV>
<DIV>doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field (normally I would</DIV>
<DIV>have said indoors and out).</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>I'm working for my Masters (the whole darned family) and already</DIV>
<DIV>have four credits (all daughters)."</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>"Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the</DIV>
<DIV>humanities (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14</DIV>
<DIV>hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more</DIV>
<DIV>challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards</DIV>
<DIV>are in satisfaction rather than just money."</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as</DIV>
<DIV>she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to</DIV>
<DIV>the door.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new</DIV>
<DIV>career, I was greeted by my lab assistants - ages 13, 7, and 3.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>Upstairs, I could hear our new experimental model (6 months) in</DIV>
<DIV>the child-development program testing out a new vocal pattern.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>I felt triumphant!</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! I had gone on the official</DIV>
<DIV>records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to</DIV>
<DIV>mankind than "just another mother."</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>Motherhood...what a glorious career.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>Especially when there's a title on the door.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>Send this to another Mother you know.</DIV>
<DIV>Whether a stay-at-home Mom or a career Mom,</DIV>
<DIV>we should all carry this title.</DIV>
<DIV>Author
Unknown~</DIV></DIV></DIV></DIV></DIV></DIV></DIV></DIV></DIV></DIV></DIV></DIV></DIV></BODY></HTML>