Love You Forever

For my mom, Katherine Fairbairn, on her 54th birthday.

Parenthood is as vital a part of life as birth and death, a scientific and biological must, even if many people these days — including me — aren’t crazy about the idea. Some folks are not meant to be parents. Still others are special people who seem born to be mothers and fathers. Enter Katherine Fairbairn Roland, née Ogren, who turns 54 today. My mom.

Mom has a purity to her livelihood which I find inspiring. She stands way out in comparison to my father, sister, and I. Robert (or Rocky), Sydney, Tyler…we’re born in the autumn and winter, over-thinkers, book-reading smarties. Kate is a July gal who will tell you she doesn’t dwell in her head and has trouble remembering whether the Revolutionary War or Civil War came first. Sure, her kids may laugh at that, but she raised ‘em. That’s more impressive than any A grade on a U.S. History test.

Ma and I are both easy criers, and I can cry at how many stops she’s pulled out to raise me just so. Hell, as a neurodivergent SOB with ASD, my mom had to go the extra mile more often than she would’ve liked. Speech therapy, social therapy, even sign language when I just wouldn’t talk as a little boy. I still have the laminated sheet I pointed at in lieu of using words. I’m convinced I didn’t speak, in part, because I was comfortable.

Due to work obligations, my dad wasn’t around a lot during my first few years of life. On her own, my mom made everything smooth, so I had no need to complain. Making chocolate chip cookies and playing a Tonka-themed memory game on the carpet? Nothing could have made three-year-old me happier. Thanks, Mom.

That’s all quite simple, but I treasure such pure memories as I reflect on how steady kateroland @ aol dot com has been for almost twenty-five years. (Shoutout to a very special Substack reader, folks!) Her sense of order and delightful manners continue to play no small part in shaping how I deal with people today. You can sense the former in her skilled photography, and the latter if you walk into the clothing store she calls a lot of the shots for, Everything Is Rosey. Mom’s smile has become a trademark of the Darien establishment, and her photos capture her family at their best — often while on a group vacation that she organized most of.

My mom will probably claim that she’s one of the more average people in this world, but give me a goddamn break. Let me paint a picture of some above-and-beyond superhero shit she did for my college graduation, now two years ago and change.

She’s the perfect ally for her kids; Sydney, my one and only younger sister, requested a reserved series of events for her own graduation from SAIC this year. I, on the other hand, gave her the green light to soup things up. I never want to come across as a vain, egocentric asshole, but I do enjoy some celebration when a special thing happens…like, y’know, a graduation.

Many months before I took delivery of my diploma, I had a childhood dream fulfilled: visiting Jay Leno’s Garage (you can read a bit about that here). How did my mother do it? She asked Jim Glickenhaus, a friend of mine, if he knew anyone who may be able to make it happen. Turns out he did. My mom gushed over how magical it felt to receive the “yeah, we can make it happen” message from new friend Steve, who works on Leno’s YouTube show. When she broke the news, I was in awe.

Give it up for good ol’ Ma! How many of our birthgivers can lay claim to realizing a daydream their son has had for over half of his life?

Oh, and it happened again, with more of my family, closer to the ceremony.

At Jay Leno’s with some of my family. Mom and I are fourth and fifth from left.

My graduation was set to be the stuff of legend (literally and otherwise, with singer John Legend as the undergraduate speaker). The tantalizing wait and eventual stage walk elapsed, acting as a prelude to the Rodeo Drive dinner I was treated to, which could not have been sweeter. Family packed a dinner table longer than a DMV line. A huge board listing some of my accomplishments got signed by everyone there — my mentor Evelyn McDonnell, an honorary family member and a mother herself, among them. I have to mention that some writing I had penned, from elementary school nonsense to satire I wrote for the popular website Hard Times, was printed out and displayed on the table.

My mom, honest to God, thought to put the paper in red-and-blue plastic sleeves to match my school’s colors. That attention to detail shatters my heart. If I think about it too long, my eyes get wet.

If you take away all of that maternal gilding, Mom still fulfills her powerful role of parent and guiding light. On the daily, you can see this in how she deals with Midge, our dog, and in her prolific dog-watching side hustle, informally dubbed “Kate’s Canine Connections” (to which I contribute occasional assistance).

My sister and I are both reluctant to give her any grandchildren, but I invite you to look at her interact with her youngest nephew and niece, Leo and Cora Ogren. These two tykes are the offspring of Kate’s youngest brother, Mike, and his wife, Ann. Ma’s soul synergy with Mike, as corny as it sometimes appears, is proof of life’s wonder. As for his kiddies? You can bet “Aunt Cake,” as she is known, has treats, love, and a sunbeam smile for both of them with each visit. She tells me that her doting on the pair pales in comparison to what she extended towards me as a little one. I’ll take her word for it.

I struggled to think of a title for this piece, but ultimately went with the name of a children’s book that my mom used to read to me as a tot. A real heartbreaker, that one; its story (spoiler!) culminates with a grown man singing the titular lullaby to his ailing mother. As I deal with so many of life’s complicated relationships — the hot-and-cold with my dad, the on-and-off with friends who can be too intense or too absent, and the therapy-fueling, glacial struggles of finding romance — Mom is an anchor, a center, someone beyond “someone” I can place my faith and comfort in.

54 is just a number, but I cherish the fact that my mom is in good health and with us. I may be willing to live on the other side of the country from her, as college proved, but my world will shatter the day my guiding light goes out. I pray my vision is further illuminated for fifty-four years and more.

Love you forever, Mom.