AS WE CELEBRATE Mother's
Day today, many of us will
fail to give a special group of surrogate moms the attention they deserve.

I'm not talking about our biological mothers, stepmoms or others who had the big job of raising us. Those special women have more than earned every card, cake or bouquet of flowers they'll get.

The group I'm thinking of are the surrogate "moms" who were always there for us--the aunts, neighbors, teachers or friends' parents who looked out for us now and then.

My memories of my early youth are now fuzzy, but the face of one of those "sometime moms" is as clear as can be.

It belongs to Billie Wills, the mother of my best friend in youth, Byron. (With no front teeth and no better sense, when I said his name it came out as "Baron.")

As youngsters, the two of us were inseparable. On most days, we hung out at his house or mine, playing Army, taping cards to flap on our bicycle spokes or exploring the dirt for new species of bugs in he woods behind our homes.

When little details like lunch, skinned knees or sullied clothes required parental attention, we didn't each go home.

We simply waited for the mom at the house of the moment to provide peanut butter sandwiches, Mercurochrome or clean clothes.

Because my mom and "Baron's" were as close as we were, each had the authority and the concern needed to step in when needed. Occasionally, that meant breaking up wrestling matches that went a headlock or two beyond friendly.

As I grew up and moved away from that Richmond suburb of my early youth, I lost touch with "Baron," who also moved away.

When I got a little older, and was totally confused by this thing called adolescence, I had two aunts--Diane and Betty Carden--who helped me during those early teen years when kids sometimes feel awkward asking for help from a mother or father.