One of greatest blessings I've been bestowed in my life is my Rita.

Logistically Rita is my step-mother, though my use of that term is substantially low.  Whenever I refer to 'my parents' every one knows that it is a three-fold expression and, if they know me well enough, they can guess which ones I'm referring to based on the context of the conversation.

Rita has been a part of my family ever since I can remember, and I wouldn't have it any other way.  

A little over a month ago, my baby bro told us all that he was going to be a daddy.  Rita beamed about this.  She was so excited she couldn't wait to pick up the phone and start telling people that she was going to be a grandmother.  Then she brought up something that I'd never really thought about before.  We were talking about grandparent names and she threw out a couple that would be good for her, then followed up with something akin to "I just don't want my grand-baby to call me Rita."

I thought about it for a minute then smiled to myself because I realized how differently we both saw a simple linguistic standard.

You see to her, 'Rita' is just her name.

To me it's the verbal signifier for one of the core pieces of my heart.

'Rita' is a person who doesn't freak out when you don't finish all of your dinner.  She's the person who let's you turn up the radio in the car and sing wildly with the windows down.  When you talk about one of your new friends, Rita is the one who remembers their back story when she hears their name.  

She's the person who proof reads all of your 20 page  papers even when you've gone completely dark and decided that prostitution, AIDS, and genocide are suitable topics.  She's the one who remembers that you like to eat the same thing every day for about a month at a time, and picks it up at the grocery store even though you didn't put it on the list.  

A 'Rita' is also known for thinking before she speaks.  She makes a great effort not to say things compulsively, and she's intelligent enough to understand that sometimes "I just don't know." can be the right answer.  She loves you for who you are; even when you're a foul mouthed, immature lesbian who has the dumbest tattoo on the planet.  

She's proud of you for the things you've done, and even more proud of the things you've not done.

A 'Rita' will listen to you talk... and talk... and talk.  She will listen to you talk about things that she doesn't even care about just because she loves you and knows that you always talk too much.  She'll even listen to a diatribe about dirt and laugh at your befuddlement of the subject.  

In short, well, short for me, I feel really bad for anyone who doesn't have a 'Rita' in their life.  They are, sadly, missing out on one of the most incredibly wonderful parental experiences a person can have.  And I know how fortunate I am to have one.  Most people are lucky to even have two parents; I have three, which probably puts me in the 'blessed' category.  I also know how rare that is, because you can't just go pick up a 'Rita' at the grocery store.

Well.. I guess you could physically, but I was being metaphorical.

The whole point is that I love my Rita.  And I hope she knows how much I love her.  I hope she understands that I am so grateful for all the sacrifices she made for my brother and me.

So, yeah, my bro's little squirt can call her whatever she chooses and I'm sure we'll all follow suit because that's what normally happens when kids come into the picture.  

But, to me, she'll always be my Rita.  And by now it should be pretty clear that that speaks volumes.