It is a classic image: A mom walking in the park with her child, watching the ducks. In an urban park, the ducks would be mallards – drab brown females and the green-headed males. “Look at the duckies, sweetie.”

On this Mother’s Day, after my son in Spokane declares, Happy Mother’s Day and Love You, I walk again with the ducks. Only this time, the setting is the Inside Passage at Wrangell, AK, and the duckies are scores of  exotic Harlequin ducks who nest along this shoreline.  I watch the bright males and small, plain females as they swim quietly or sit on their rocky nests.

A great deal has changed besides the duck breed and the setting. When I was pushing a stroller among the mallards I believed that I was a perfect mom. I tried to live up to cultural expectations, and I imagined that I did everything right, providing the proper amounts of care and love. My son was clean, well-fed, surrounded by toys and goodness. Even at an early age, we camped, hiked, fished. Heck, I was such a great parent I could be both mom and dad. I spun such a facade of goodness and perfection around my mothering that my son even believed that his mommy was the best of the best. Invincible. Wise. Wonderful. Now, I  look at the false image we create and the impossible expectations of a judging culture and am compelled to let down the mask. I made mistakes. Like so many young parents I was immature. Among other things, I was wedded to the image of myself as a victim. I was committed to self-sabotage. I was sometimes lost while wrestling with my demons. My self-image as a perfect mom has not withstood the test of time. Thank goodness!

I already know that we can never undo the past. Today I was reminded that, if we are lucky, there is a future. My son loves me, he accepts my imperfections, and he reminds me that I really wasn’t a horrible mom. Part of this is just the guilt talking. And now he is a dad, which gives me the opportunity to support him as a parent and to learn, as a grandma now, how to love with the mask off.