Manvotional: Somebody’s Mother

For the first time, I’m seeing a complete game on VR. It’s called Manvotional: Somebody’s Mother. You play as somebody who doesn’t know their mother and is trying to find out what happened to her after she disappeared some years ago. The game starts with minimal information about where you are or why you’re there, which leaves it up for interpretation whether this is an actual event that took place in one of your memories or if it was just something you dreamed up while grieving for your mom

Vintage man helping old woman in down street illustration.

In celebration of Mother’s Day, here’s an old emotional poem.

Mary D. Brine’s Somebody’s Mother

The lady was old, tattered, and gray, and she was bent with the frost of a winter’s day; the streets were white with fresh snow, and the woman’s steps were sluggish with age.

She waited for a long time at the busy crossing, jostled aside by the thoughtless mass of people who passed her by. I was completely unconcerned with her worried gaze.

Laughter and shouts reverberate along the street. The freedom of “school let out” makes me happy. Come the cheerful lads, like a herd of sheep, hailing the white and deep snow; past the elderly and gray mother. The youngsters were hurried on their way.

None gave a helping hand to her, who was frail and frightened, afraid to move in case the carriage wheels or horses’ hooves trampled her on the slick pavement.

Finally, the happy throng emerged. He halted alongside her and said quietly, “I’ll assist you over, if you desire to go.” He was the gayest of the bunch.

Her frail hand rests on his strong young arm. He led the frightened feet forward without hurting or harming them, proud that his own were youthful and powerful; Then he returned to his buddies, his youthful heart full and cheerful.

“For all she’s ancient, poor, and slow, she’s somebody’s mother, lads; and some one, some day, may offer a hand To aid my mother—you understand?” — If she’s someday old, impoverished, and gray, with her own lovely son so far away.”

That night, “Somebody’s mother” bent down in her house, and her prayer was: “God be kind to that wonderful lad, Who is somebody’s son and pride and joy.”



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