A mother is always a mother, since a mother is a biological fact, whilst a father is a movable feast.

Aeneas carried his aged father on his back from the ruins of Troy and so do we all, whether we like it or not, perhaps even if we have never known them.

As for my father, few souls are less troubled. He can be simply pleased with us, pleased that we exist, and, from the vantage point of his wondrously serene old age, he contemplates our lives almost as if they were books he can dip into whenever he wants. His back pages, perhaps.

Mother goddesses are just as silly a notion as father gods

I drew the curtains to conceal the sight of my father's farewell; my spite was sharp as broken glass.