It's time for another holiday! It's time for advertising campaigns from makers of candy, colouring kits, and religious paraphernaelia. It's time for taxes and final exams, for kids demanding gifts and for Easter-egg hunts. And it's a time for family.

This Easter weekend, I'm going to Saskatchewan to visit relatives with my mother. I look forward to this because I enjoy hanging out with my mom and because we only see each other a few times a month.

My mom and I are buddies. We've seen each other through tough times, in her life and in mine. We talk about everything, even about things most people gasp about, sternly insisting—or regretfully lamenting—that they could never talk about that with their parents.

I am very glad that my mom and I like each other so much, and I am proud to have such a wonderful relationship with her. Lack of friendship between parent and child is a social ill plaguing our culture. My mom and I are like those cheesy television advertisements for greeting cards or even female-only products, except that we're not fake, and I don't have to be a girl for us to get along. It's sad that such a nice relationship is mostly relegated to fake commercials.

I guess it isn't considered cool to hang out with your parents during holidays or at any other time, but I prefer what is naturally comfortable to what is cold and distant.

A parent is one who made you, who crafted you with their own love and with their own bodies. They gave themselves up for your sake, made you the first priority over even themselves. (Conversely, if one has a child and does not do that, I must call into question their qualification as a parent.) It would be ghastly not to overflow with love and gratitude for someone who loves me as much as my mother has.

Why isn't it cool to love one's parents? Who decided that it wasn't? Whatever happened to that song that went "We are family! Come one everybody and sing!"? That was cool. Now, if you live at home past age 20, you're a slacker. I'm older than that, and I would live with my mom still if necessity didn't dictate that we live in different cities. If that makes me a mama's boy, there are worse fates. My mom and I would be great roommates. We used to chat, eat, and hang out together, but we never got in each other's way. And boy, do we laugh.

I continue to ask mom for advice, and she continues to give me wise and serene insights. We have fights, but that's only when we have to work harder to understand each other. I've seen people be incredibly rude to their parents on an ongoing basis, without any reason; they justify it by saying their parents are "annoying".

But how can love and concern be irritating?

I've also seen parents be mercilessly cruel to their children, condemning every aspect of their lives, from career to appearance to dishwashing habits. Now that's what I call social disease.

A truly lovable and loving parent must find the line between discipline and control, between guidance and abuse.

There are obviously no universal maxims to parenting, as every person, family, and culture is different. But from the lack of demonstrated love and the infrequency of relaxed, fun conversation I've seen between parent and child, I've learned to appreciate my wonderful mother more than ever. I can't wait for Easter.