Unrivaled Ferocity 10/1/2023

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

Lately I have been thinking about a certain term that is readily thrown about.  I’m pretty sure most of you will have heard of this phrase.  I’ve seen it on T-shirts and on stickers on cars.  If I am honest, I wouldn’t mind having one of those shirts myself.  The term gives certain connotations and I suppose they are mostly, if not all positive. I have been thinking about it so much though because it feels like it has a lot of backstory and I am curious as to the details. I think I have strung you along enough.  The term to which I am referring is when someone is called a “Mama Bear”.  And yes, I have some questions.  Bear with me if you will.  Ha. See what I did there. If I’m honest, that was accidental, and I didn’t discover I had done it until I was editing.  Anyway. Moving on.

First of all, why is the bear the animal that we have chosen to depict the ferocity of a protective mother?  Don’t most animals get quite defensive when it comes to their offspring?  I’ve seen deer do terrible damage to someone that threatened a fawn.  We’ve all probably seen the domestic dog or cat take offense to someone getting a bit too close to their litter and having to take matters into their own paws.  I am just curious as to what it was that made us decide that the mother bear was the be all end all for maternal protective instincts.  It seems that we might be being a tad disrespectful to the other species of mother.  I don’t doubt that bears have impressive maternal instincts mind you. I am pretty sure if one came into an intimate meeting with those teeth and claws in a less than ideal situation, then the terminology would seem of the utmost appropriateness. I can easily see the ferocity comparison, but I am thinking it may apply if you were too close to a lioness’ cub or something of the like. Yes, I may well be over analyzing a time-honored phrase but, then again, that’s what I do so if you know me, you shouldn’t be surprised by this.

I have an aunt that I call Mama Bear.  She actually refers to herself that way as well.  It was a moniker that my mother and I gave her, but I suppose she realized it fit to the point that she embraced it. She will send me birthday cards and the like and sign them from Mama Bear, so she really has found it agreeable. We call her this because she is the oldest of my mom’s female siblings and thus as taken on the role of mothering everyone. And by everyone, I mean absolutely everyone.  Well, in thinking about her role it’s more of a Mother Hen rather than a Mama Bear.  She is gathering little chicks from far and wide. She is bringing in biddies the likes of which she should not remotely be burdening herself with but oh no, the wings are outspread and there is usually a meal prepared for any and all of them. And like most mothers of any type, you can’t tell her anything.  I suppose that is why she hasn’t argued too much with our nickname for her since she knows it’s accurate. She knows she is tending and feeding and going above and beyond for entirely too many even beyond her brood but, she has no intention of stopping.  I guess a hen isn’t particularly ferocious but when it comes to mothering, they do quite well.

I remember the first time I felt that deep down in the pit of my stomach feeling of the mother bear instinct.  My daughter was very young, so young in fact that, if I am not mistaken, which is possible because ever since I’ve become a mom my memory has gone the way of the Dodo, but I think my daughter was still sleeping in a bassinet in our bedroom. A family member who was visiting was having some difficulties with their spouse.  Just a casual mention, that nothing ever came of might I add, was made of what if said spouse came to our home and attempted to cause problems.  I cannot even describe to you the immediate, unexpected and disconcerting rush of adrenaline that filled every fiber of my being. All I could imagine suddenly was the safe home environment of my child could possibly be at risk and in a blink, I had fangs and claws. I also envisioned other weaponry that would be a bit more human appropriate.  I was completely unprepared for this response but, if I’m being honest, I liked it.  It felt powerful.  It felt strong. And for a person who normally avoids confrontation like the plague, that feeling of being an imposing force to be reckoned with was, well, not half bad.

Yes, a bear works. Getting between a mother bear and her cubs is definitely one of the most dangerous things one can do.  And I can speak from experience that her reaction to any threat, whether real or perceived, to her cubs will merit a response that is utterly beyond her control. I didn’t know it was in me until it was prodded that it might need to come out. When I discovered it, I was amazed. I am the quiet, don’t cause a fuss, type. But at the even inkling of a possibility that my child could be in the midst of anything untoward, my blood boiled and, while it sounds terribly dramatic, to describe it as a blood thirst doesn’t seem outlandish. I know. I know.  Surely, I’m not going to go about doing irreversible damage to someone like that. But then again, my daughter hasn’t truly been threatened so, I cannot really say.  Maybe that is it.  Mama is the operative part of the phrase.  Bear is just a descriptor that was added that seemed appropriate to let you know the wrath to expect. I hadn’t thought about it that way. Yes. Sounds about right.