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Mother and Father

A Monologue For A Woman – 8 Minutes


I’m sorry to hear that you have unresolved issues with your mother.

That can be so uncomfortable. Totally miserable, really. After all we’re supposed to grow up to be friends with our mothers, aren’t we?

I do empathize with your predicament, there. Yes, I do. It must be very uncomfortable for you to be you, when you can’t come to terms with your pattern for life. I mean, your same sex parent.

I guess I have to tell you about my mother. My mother was so very sensitive to all my needs. Mother would never embarrass me intentionally. In fact I can never remember Mother ever doing that.

It was such a pleasure to have our chats and explore new ideas together. Mother was very intelligent, you know. Any subject was easy. I could talk about anything. Absolutely anything. No preaching. No scare tactics. The most perfect confidence in me. Mother never criticized me for coloring outside the lines. Indeed, the lines were never mentioned.

Forbid me from doing things? Never.

Yes, we explored alternatives, but whatever I chose, Mother supported me, absolutely.

It was so reassuring.

I never had to complain about Mother.

Now, my poor friends, they were often so angry at their mothers.

Some of them just couldn’t bear to be alone with those women.

But I love my Mother. I was jealous of our time alone. I always wanted to be with Mother more than it was ever possible to be.

Mother did have a life, you know. Very popular. Everyone wanted to spend time with Mother.

What a great fortune I had in Mother. I’m so blessed to have recognized that very thing.

Yes, indeed there is so much hatred in the world because of what mothers did, or didn’t do. So many shortcomings! How could one person possibly accomplish all of these attributes?

But I had Mother.

Mother was perfect. I shall always remember Mother. I do my best to always do what Mother would have done…………

Well, I’m sorry that you don’t feel that way about your mother. I’m sure that there is a perfect mother for everyone. There is no good reason why I would be the only person to have one.

Thank goodness Mother was not cruel. No. Never. Not cruel.

I always knew that Mother loved me. Cared about how I saw things. Cared about how my decisions worked for me.

Mother would never refuse to talk to me.

It must be so difficult to have to do what someone else wants you to do all the time.

My Mother was so excited about what I wanted to do and how I was going to do it.

Threaten me? Never. I can’t imagine Mother doing that.

It’s just unthinkable.

It is.

Whatever I wanted, I could do. Mother was good that way. If I wanted to decorate it, whatever it was, I could. Mother helped. I could do what I liked with anything in my home. Anything.

Nothing was ever forbidden me. I was free. Yes. Free. Freedom is so good.

It is to be treasured.

My friend had a mother who insisted on having knitted lace curtains on the windows. That embarrassed her so much.

No one had curtains like that.

My friend’s mother thought she was too skinny. Her mother said she was embarrassed about her daughter. Her lovely little daughter got fat soon after that. A certain mother even let the geese attack her daughter and stood screaming at the poor kid to kick the geese, but never lifted a leg to get over the fence to help her. That same mother yelled at her daughter not to kick a charging cow that was coming at her out in the pasture with horns lowered.

It might hurt the cow.

But having a perfect Mother was such a blessing for me. I could not have asked for better.

My Mother was perfect, you know. Just perfect.

My poor fat friend went around looking at other people’s mothers and wishing and wishing.

She knew that her mom had not let her grow up the way she was meant to and she felt incomplete some way. She was very jealous and resentful and she did some really mean things to people when she got jealous of the paragon she thought their mother was.

Talk about being dissatisfied.

She was dissatisfied all right.

Not easy to be with, you know. There was always something wrong with everything, or some reason that only she could see why she couldn’t do what she wanted to do.

If your mother won’t let you, who will? Right?

She was stuck.

Her husband yelled at her. “Just get over it!’ Then he slammed the door and left.

When the boss called because my colleague hadn’t arrived at work the next morning, I had to go check on her.

It was bad.

But she did survive and when she came to, in Intensive Care, I was angry. I’d missed a contract I’d been working on for ages because she decided to act out. She would have to go and do that, right on that specific day.

And of course, I got stuck in the middle of it all.


Well, actually, I chose to be with her, in a way, because I’m one of these caretaker types and she sure needed some care right then.

But I missed getting that contract and I was just mad enough to say something to her really straight out. Something I’d never said to anyone before.

So I spilled the beans. Told her the big secret.

But like I told you, I was mad. Really, really steamed about that million dollar contract going down the tubes.

So I told her.

Yes, I did.

I didn’t mince words. I just told her straight out.

The whole thing.

She looked pretty amazed, so she did. Just amazed!

Maybe shocked.

Yes, I think I shocked her.

Anyway, I got her attention.

She was really interested and said she’d think about what I’d told her when she got calmed down.

It didn’t do any harm to blow up.

She actually took the initiative and got in touch with the guy I’d been wooing for that deal on new sewer pipes for the town and I got the contract, after all.

That was out of her usual behavior pattern to do that.

Pretty neat.

Could there be hope?

I didn’t think she had it in her.

But I’m sure pleased to find she does.

Of course, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed just now in my new role as her father.

She said she’d always wanted a father who would stand up for what was important to him.

And while she was still looking for a mother to adopt, so she could finish growing up the way she wanted to, she’d found someone who acted just like the Father she’d always wanted.

So, I encouraged her to go for it and the next thing I knew she was kneeling on the bed imploring me to be her Father.

Well, Holeee!

She sure took me unawares, there.

But what could I do?

“Pass it on,” Mother said when I tried to say thanks to him a few years back.

And now it was my turn.


Me? Father?

Saying, “But I’m a woman,” wouldn’t really work, since I’d already told her that “Mother” was a man.

Crazy, isn’t it?

Adopt a man to be my Mother?

But it worked.

I grew up just the way I wanted to and I’m OK with Mom now. I have good memories. No judgmental stuff. In fact, I love Mom and appreciate where she was able to triumph. I also have lots of empathy for her limitations, now. I even treasure the end of that darned knitted curtain that she thought was so great on the kitchen window.

And I have very fond memories of Mother, wherever he may be.

Now to being Father. Successfully, I hope.

Would you wish me luck with that? Especially, while I’m getting used to the idea.

Thank you, Folks. I knew you’d understand. I can trust you with this? Right?