We Trad Cats are like children whose father has brought another woman home and told us we must now address her as our mother.
”But father, this is not our mother,” we say.
”I am your father with authority over you, and I say this is your mother. You must hug her and kiss her and tell her you love her,” the father says angrily.
”But father,” we say, “this woman is not our mother. We want our mother back.”
“You disobedient child,” the father says. “Your new mother keeps house and cooks for you and takes you to school. She does everything a mother does. She is your mother.”
”But father,” we say, “Our mother gave us life. She makes us home-cooked meals with love and attention. This other woman lets strangers into the home at all hours and heats up TV dinners in the microwave. She is not our mother. We want our mother back.”
”You have injured the harmony of this family with your complaining,” the father says. “You have defied my authority.”
“But father,” we say, “we know you are our father. Yet that woman is not our mother. We are broken hearted. Please give us our mother back.”
”You disobedient, ungrateful wretch of a child” the father says. “Because you have defied me, you are excommunicated and no longer part of this family. Depart from my sight and sleep in the coal cellar, for if you will not have this woman for your mother, then you are no child of mine and you have no part in this family.”
And so we continue on, quarantined to the dark cellar, yearning for our father to put his trophy bride aside and bring our mother back. In our seclusion we keep the family customs, we recall our true mother’s birthday, we sing the songs she loves. She will know we have been faithful, even though our father has forgotten himself and shamed her.
May our father remember his duties and restore our loving mother to her rightful place.
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