Like the corners of my mind…
Misty water colored memories…
Of the way we were…
Um…did I just quote a Streisand song?
Fucking old, I am!
I was around four or five years old at my aunt’s house standing in the doorway dreading that my mom was about to be there to pick me up. I stayed at my aunt’s house while my parents worked and I loved being at her house. My cousins were there, and we were always at their activities after school…pep rallies, practices, their friends were always over. My aunt had the luxury of being a stay at home mom, and I had the luxury of benefiting from her parenting as well. Every day when my mom picked me up, I cried. I begged to stay at “Me-Me’s” house. I loved being in the center of the hub-bub that went on there.
It was nothing personal against my mom. I didn’t hate her. I just loved staying at my aunt’s house. When the image of motherhood popped into my head as a young girl, it was my aunt’s rendition of motherhood that I wanted to emulate. Again, nothing against my mom, my aunt could afford to be and had the means to be the kind of mother I admired. Now that I’m thinking of it, maybe it was a bit personal as an older child…but, as a four or five year old, I’m convinced I was innocent.
There I stood in the doorway, already negotiating with my aunt to allow me to stay. My mom walked through the door, weary after a long day at work and I could see the disappointment on her face. I could see the, “I just don’t want to deal with this, for the love of all that is holy, child, just get in the damn car and make this easy on the both of us,” wrinkled up on her brow.
Yet, one thing about four and five year olds, is that they are extremely selfish. It wasn’t in me to respond to my mother’s needs, I wanted to fulfill my own needs. I began to cry and pout looking back and forth between my mother and aunt. The daughter in me desperately not wanting to disappoint my mother, but, the kid in me just wanting to have fun.
My mother erupted, “FINE. STAY. YOU’D RATHER BE HERE WITH HER ANYWAY,” she turned, left, slamming the door behind her.
At the time, the little girl in me felt horrible. It was such an awful feeling. I’d gotten what I wanted, but, I’d hurt my mother. I felt guilty. I felt sad. But, that little part of me was relieved that I’d gotten what I wanted.
Looking back on this memory now, as an adult, I’m the one who feels angry. Angry that my mother placed her misguided emotions onto the shoulders of a five year old child. I was too little to carry those for her, yet she dumped them on me, and left me there to soak in them. She took it personally that I wanted to stay, and she dumped all of her feelings onto an innocent child. Purposefully.
This is the big problem I have with my mom. I know she does these things purposefully, yet I don’t know if she’s aware of the impact of her actions. Even when I try to explain to her what this memory means to me, she says that I’m blowing it out of proportion.
It’s just that. My memory. My perception that makes it my reality…of the beginnings of this dysfunctional relationship between my mom and I.
Memories…
Misty water colored memories.
Like the corners of my mind.
4 comments:
I think sometimes we have these unrealistic expectations of our children though we don't realize it at the time. I am constantly reminding myself they are just kids. We want so much for them to be well behaved, mannered, and respectful all of them time when we as parents fall short ourselves. Perhaps looking back now she would see the impact that you see now. I know my dad in his position, wheelchair bound, growing up a lot was expected of us and we were robbed our childhood by responsibility. All we can do as adults now is break the cycle. Treat our kids the way we wish things had been for us. Otherwise, we are hypocrites.
you are so right, ern. i've def found myself about to do the same thing...or, having just done the same thing and having to apologize to my kids. this understanding of my childhood has made me a better mom. i've def let go of some of those expectations and by god...i just want them to be happy. i want their childhood memories to be fond and fun. i know i'm not perfect and expect to psychologically damage them somehow...after all, this is me we're talking about...but, i just hope they know, no matter what, that i love them. i can't say that i knew that about my mom...and i hate that. i always thought she hated me because i continually disappointed her. i don't want my kids to ever think, see, feel or even imagine that. i'm so proud of my mediocre kids and our mediocre lives...all bundled up in glorious mediocrity!!!!
Hm, I think as adults we often put too much blame on our parents (moms). Most of the time they were just doing the best they could and sometimes let's face it, their best sucked, but sometimes so does ours. My mom had LOTS of faults when I was growing up but as an adult I don't try to blame her for those bad memories. Some people just aren't capable of being who we wish they could be and sometimes we just have to accept them for the fucked up messes that they are and either choose to love them that way or not. But to continually place blame for what happened forever ago is helping no one and probably hurting you more than it should, and my mom was much more like your mom than your aunt so I speak from experience. Just my 2 cents worth.
I have a strugle with how much I expect from my kids. It is probably selfish on my part. I work full time and sometimes I jsut want them to shut it and do what I ask the first time...or even the 5th time. I don't want them to remember me like that though, so it is a good thing to think about their perception of us as parents. :)
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