Can their Father cook?

“Can their father cook, mamma?”, my  6yr old daughter Shannon asked. “Does he know how to cook food? Who will feed them?”.

These were Shannon’s concerns when she looked at a photograph of a friend’s children who were brought up single handedly by their dad following their mother’s death. “Yes”, I said, “I’m sure he knows how to cook. And besides, their daddy has married again and they now have a new mamma.”

Even as I answered Shannon, I was transported back to my own childhood as I recalled asking my mother that exact same question when someone we knew had found themselves in a similar situation.

“Who will feed them?” This is a very valid question coming from a child. It is the most obvious association that a child’s mind makes – mother and food (with a few exceptions).

My mother, Dr. Maj. Pauline Domingo, is quite the achiever. She is a professor with a Phd in Jewish Literature and also a retired ‘Major’ from 30 years of part-time service in the Paramilitary forces. As a child, I remember my mum being dynamic, brisk and very charismatic. I was vaguely aware that she was extremely well respected and regarded in professional circles. But none of this mattered to me. As far as I was concerned, she was, quite simply, my mamma. She was the lady who took care of me and, most notably, made me cold coffee with ice-cream, cola floats, crisp chicken, pigs in blankets, duck roast, cheese bake, curried puffs, bacon and spinach pasta, crab curry, sugar chapattis, pepper chops, prawn vindaloo, bread pudding, chocolate cake, french toast…you get the idea! Yes, my mum cooked. A lot. And boy, could she cook! And boy, could I eat! Mum also wore shabby clothes when she cooked. That was the most heart warming association in my baby mind.

I’m not quite sure when this primal association started to change but eventually I began to register everything that mamma stood for  in between cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner. Mamma can read my thoughts, predict my reactions, anticipate my needs, pray for me better than I can pray for myself and she’s never too far to jump in and pull me out of a rough patch.

It is very hard to capture the details of my multi-dimensional relationship with mamma in a single paragraph but I’m going to try and capture the essence of it. As a child mamma never ceased to surprise me; constantly pulling out all stops to make me smile. We went on bus rides to no where, got take-away pizza to eat by the lake, baked cakes together, sang silly songs, had the best birthday parties, snuggled up in bed and read books together. Mamma was also my first singing teacher, my badminton partner and personal fashion designer/tailor.  As a teenager mamma was my best movie buddy, my favourite shopping partner, the trusting pillion rider on my bike, my confidante, my reference point for the person I wanted to be, the person who taught me that life without Jesus is no life at all. I’m not ashamed to say that I allowed mamma to make choices for me. She constantly made choices on how to best channelise my potential – this saved me from the recklessness of teenage life. My Engineering degree, my Dîplome Supérieur in French, my sports accolades, my Paramilitary training, my drawing, my music and cooking skills – I owe them all to the decisions of a wise and God fearing mother. She was always there to help me push through my undertakings whenever the going got tough. I remember having many meltdowns during the tough 4yrs working towards my Engineering degree but mamma always went the extra mile to make sure I stayed my course – sometimes reading through my textbooks, highlighting the important points and talking me through the summary of  lessons when I was too tired to read for myself. And then there was the time she wrote me a letter for each of the 90 days that I was away from home in a Paramilitary camp. As an adult, mamma is still my favourite companion – we discuss literature and theology, we still have adventures, we cook together, we always sniff out the best bargains together, I still ask her advice,we still laugh at each other’s jokes, we still fight, we still love to go out together ‘just because’. Even though I’ve now moved countries, we somehow manage to maintain our special relationship over Skype (she’s still my shopping partner sometimes – albeit telephonic shopping partner!) and when we do meet, it’s like we’ve never been apart at all. As I parent my own children, I’m constantly thankful to God for giving me a mother who has set a worthy example for me to follow -that she has set the bar so high is a whole other challenge to rise up to!

Mamma shares her heart and her life with me. But the greatest thing that mamma is constantly sharing with me is the wisdom to understand that true greatness is not so much about direct successes but rather about how you respond to failures.

Can my father cook? Well, he’s not entirely hopeless. But even if he were the best cook in the world he would not be a fair replacement for my mother. And yet, as I write this, I’d like to take a moment to honour the many single dads who do such a whole hearted and wonderful job of parenting their children despite being acutely aware that they can never fully take the place of a mother; just as a mother could never take the place of a father.

A mother’s role in her children’s lives is far beyond her ability to cook for them. When asked about one of his masterpieces, the legendary Michaelangelo responded, “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” I’d like to dedicate this article to all the mothers out there – whether they can or cannot cook – who look at their children, see the angel in the marble and carve away until they set them free. But most of all, I’d like to dedicate this to the irreplaceable lady who is still quietly and perseveringly carving away at the marble until she sets her angel free. This one’s for you, mamma.