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From: Lorraine Standfield <>
Subject: [Fwd: FW: I'm just a Mother!]
Date: Tue, 14 Sep 1999 07:32:40 +1000


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From: Doreen Addicott <>
Subject: FW: I'm just a Mother!
To: Carole Hobbs <>,
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Lorraine Standfield <>,
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-----Original Message-----
From: Stephanie Addicott-Hutchins [mailto:]
Sent: 10 September 1999 19:36
To: Elizabeth McKissack; Elizabeth Davis; Linda Reneau; Sonja Tucker;
Mattie Bailey; Doreen Addicott; Kathleen McKee; Rose Bouchad; Tom
Cooper; Bobby Hutchins
Subject: Fwd: I'm just a Mother!


How could I not send this one! It is my new title!

I'm Just a Mother?

A few months ago, when I was picking up the children
at school, another mother I knew well rushed up to me.
Emily was fuming with indignation.

"Do you know what you and I are?" she demanded. Before
I could answer - and I didn't really have one handy -
she blurted out the reason for her question.

It seemed she had just returned from renewing her
driver's license at the County Clerk's office. Asked
by the woman recorder to state her "occupation," Emily
had hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.
"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "Do you have
a job, or are you just a ......?" "Of course I have a
job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother." "We don't list
'mother' as an occupation...'housewife' covers it,"
said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found
myself in the same situation, this time at our own
Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman,
poised, efficient, and possessed of a high-sounding
title, like "Official Interrogator" or "Town
Registrar." "And what is your occupation?" she probed.
What made me say it, I do not know. The words simply
popped out. "I'm....a Research Associate in the field
of Child Development and Human Relations."

The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in mid-air,
and looked up as though she had not heard right. I
repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most
significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my
pompous pronouncement was written in bold, black ink
on the official questionnaire.

"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just
what you do in your field?" Coolly, without any trace
of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have
a continuing program of research (what mother doesn't)
in the laboratory and in the field (normally I would
have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters
(the whole darned family) and already have four
credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of
the most demanding in the humanities (any mother care
to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day (24 is
more like it). But the job is more challenging than
most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are in
satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's
voice as she completed the form, stood up, and
personally ushered me to the door. As I drove into our
driveway buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was
greeted by my lab assistants--- ages 13, 7, and 3. And
upstairs, I could hear our new experimental model (six
months) in the child-development program, testing out
a new vocal pattern.

I felt triumphant. I had scored a beat on bureaucracy.
And I had gone down on the official records as someone
more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than
"just another......"

Home...what a glorious career. Especially when there's
a title on the door.

Send this page to another Mother.

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