When a man cries, 'I want my mother!'

How would you draw a profile of your partner in life? This became a lively topic among wives.

Jerry hands. His winning smile unfurled the moment he walked into a room with his equally charming wife, a perfect match.

He was supposedly handy around the house. Holding a hermetically sealed jar of artichokes, his wife asked, “Honey, can you pry this one loose?” He gripped the lid and applied force on the jar; it didn’t move. He took a teaspoon and put the point of the spoon under the edge of the jar; his wrist went limp. “I looked up at the ceiling so as not to make him feel threatened, but he almost dropped the bottle on my toes,” the wife cried.

That was when Mommy Babushka, i.e. mother-in-law (MIL), came to the rescue — his rescue. She grabbed the jar, turned it upside down and hit the lid flat on a hard surface. Easy.

Mommy Babushka huffed. She turned to her son and gave a mild grunt,  “Harrumph! Whatta banana.”

“Did I raise a la-lampa-lampa kid?” harrumphed Mommy Babushka again.

“He’s not weak,” defended the wife. “Steadfast and reliable, he keeps order in the family, ensuring our well-being.” But when it comes to trivial things as common as pie and peanuts and opening jars, he reverts to a baby, wailing practically in helplessness.

The first thought that crossed my mind was a mama’s boy. Does he fit the profile of a crybaby?

Any mother would run to the defense of her son. With mine, I was ready to drive away any boo-boo or duele (hurts) with a Finding Nemo adhesive bandage plus ice cream and a toy. Soothing, calming words were a must and babying the boy, who would eventually grow taller than me, came instinctively.

Boys can grow up completely and hopelessly feminized, totally dependent on a woman figure, whether his mother, his wife, or both, but please, not at the same time.

In one of Fr. Dave Concepcion’s homilies — addressed specifically to engaged couples — he gave a kind but sober reminder: 

“When you marry, the most important person in your life becomes your wife (or husband). Your mother takes a few steps backwards acknowledging that she is not a top priority anymore in your life… unless you choose to live with her. That becomes another story.”

A banshee (feminine ghost) story?

 “Your mother has every right to continue to assert her authority or control. If you’re not happy with this tenuous setup, move out.”

It was obvious. Men loved their mothers and revered them. “They grew up aware that they must conduct life in such a way that if their mothers were watching what they were doing minute by minute, their mothers would be completely at peace with that.”

Champagne Charlie. He earned a following by his witty remarks and the manner that he dissected the news.  His wife was equally accomplished, managing their home and the children who benefitted from her steady presence.

After a formal dinner that the wife organized with aplomb, he raised his fluted glass to toast his guests but not without acknowledging his wife first, “To the lady who allowed me to host this dinner and turned it to another successful and enjoyable evening.”

“Huh?” the wife replied dryly. She threw a meaningful glance at her husband, her eyes forming a slit. “Honey, it’s all right that you are happy about the way you asked me to take charge of your life, but don’t make it that obvious.”  “Oh, oh, someone will sleep outside the kulambo tonight,” someone remarked. Translation: He’s banished to the three-seater sofa. The remark was said in good humor. To the other wives, it was a kilig thrilling moment to witness a husband paying tribute to an exemplary wife. I imagine his mom saying, “Good job, anak.”

At the extreme opposite, there are men who take women to the netherworld. The men with hair trigger tempers, the finks (contemptible), the snitches (babble mouth) and the weasels (deceitful).  They are the types who would hit a woman. Only a loser would hit a woman. Trailing behind, whimpering, bit-by-bit, one episode at a time, in everything that meant anything, he turns to someone else to blame and kick, never himself. His mother becomes his crutch. She would turn a blind eye, refusing to see him for what he truly is: deranged. And if the mother were moneyed, she would hide him from public scrutiny or even silence the offended wife with unlimited largesse, compounding the problem. He will never own up, will remain unrepentant.

Munchkin pie. Everyone thought he wouldn’t go far with the looming presence of his mother in his life. But in one of those momentous awakenings, he cut the apron strings and ventured out to the world. When his career prospered, he took a wife.  Whenever they visited his mother, she’d serve a meal fit for royalty but out of habit, she peeled the shell of all crustacean dishes for him and deboned the bangus short of spoon-feeding him. “Just like old times,” he giggled. 

Back home, he naturally asked, “Honey, why are the shrimps still unpeeled in this sinigang?” The wife replied, “Sweetheart…dearest, I’m not your mother.”

Laughing hysterically now, someone asked, “What if your husband turns on that self-deprecating, pitiful, big button eyes like Puss-in-Boots with the voice of Antonio Banderas?  Would you be like his doting mother and peel and devein his shrimps?”

Whatta banana. Men never outgrow their mothers — or do they?