Since the 1960s, scores of mothers in America have shared in the experience of reading P. D. Eastman's classic tale Are you My Mother? to their children. A silly and heartwarming story unfolds as a confused little bird mistakes it's mother for a cow, a car and a shovel, but the deeper meaning is that the hatchling successfully completes the imprinting process -- recognizing his mother so he can mimic her behavioral characteristics.
With the latest shots fired in the on-going Mommy Wars -- the Rosen/Romeny Brouhaha -- I am feeling very much like the little bird. I find little commonality with the au courant versions of motherhood being touted today. I don't identify with Amy Chua, French Moms, Ann Romney, Hilary Rosen or Frank Bruni's mother, who, by his recent account in the New York Times, was bathed in golden hues during every selfless act she performed in her lifetime.
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