Act II

Conditional Love

My favorite example of unconditional love is of one mother’s passionate devotion to her son’s innocence after he was found by police hiding in a car trunk following accusations that he’d had his pregnant girlfriend murdered in a drive-by shooting. His mother railed against the police, proclaimed his innocence and seemed indignant that they’d unceremoniously hauled him out of the trunk and into handcuffs.

Had he been my son, I’d have slapped him into next week for being in the trunk in the first place.

I don’t believe in unconditional love. I understand that saying that makes me sound cold, unsympathetic and unforgiving. Perhaps. I love my husband, our children and grandchildren -- and a host of friends and relatives. But my love for each is different, and beyond the uniqueness of each relationship is a limitation in me about what is and is not acceptable behavior. I am judgmental, and I expect the same treatment. I don’t take the love of others for granted, and feel I must always work to be worthy of it.

Recently a longtime friend, who’s struggled for years to heal from the effects of bad family problems, described the viciousness of the beatings her father gave her mother. The previous evening, in another context, she’d told me how much she loved and adored her father despite his extensive and lurid bad behavior. Genuinely confused as she described her mother’s experiences, I asked how she could love a man who did such dreadful things.

She seemed taken aback by the question and said she blamed an abusive society for his behavior, excusing him. My response was that not all men who have bad experiences beat their wives and that, to me, his behavior made him unworthy of her love.

I know whereof I speak. My father was psychologically abusive and, at 17, I decided he was a destructive force in my life and I chose to step away from him. I was unable to love someone who worked so hard at hurting others. I have no evidence that he suffered from my absence in his life, and I never regretted my decision. I’ve been fortunate to have good male role models, and have only been sorry that my father wasn’t one of them.

In our culture fathers often get a pass to withhold and earn praise for creating standards to be met. But women -- mamas -- seem to have been raised to believe we are obliged to “love you no matter what.”  B.B. King confirms this attitude for me in his great blues lyric, “Nobody loves me but my mother, and she could be jivin’ too.” For women to manage their love can bring charges of being harsh or cruel.

Most of us are undone by the idea of losing our mother’s -- or anyone else’s -- love, but assuming anyone’s love comes with no strings, no conditions and is always unqualified can be a mistake.

Sometimes your mama is jivin’ you.

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