Today would have been my mother's birthday. She would have been 94 if she had lived. She died in 1972. That's been a long time - the year before my daughter was born.
She shaped the way I dealt with my daughter. My mother and I didn't have a good relationship. I was an only child, but I wasn't treated fairly. I know, it's easy to say, and a lot of people would say that sort of thing, but in my mind it is true.
When I was growing up, I would always be compared to my friends. In "why don't you do _______ like X does." "Why can't you be more like X?" "I do everything in the world for you and you don't appreciate it."
Those are hurtful things. She also would remark about how "fat" I was. I look at pictures now and realize I wasn't. But then I believed it, and if that was what she wanted . . . well I still have great problems. She wasn't a size 2 either.
The belitting went on even into my adult hood. When we moved to Swampland and bought our first house, I overheard her talking to my aunt who lived here. We lived in an older neighborhood. Around here, you didn't have curbs. You had bar ditches in front of the houses to handle the heavy rain. My mother found that appalling, and she said so to my aunt. G and I had horses at the time. Her opinion was that "his" was far superior to mine. I could never please.
I vowed I would never be like that to my kids. And I never was. I thought Daughter and I had a good relationship until she became a teen. I think she remembers those horrible times more than the other times, but we came through it. We can now be friends and we are. I don't think that would have ever happened with my mother and me.
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News:
Son called me today. He went to sing at a friend's church on Sunday. His friend is the assistant pastor. They hired Son to be worship leader. It will pay $200 a week. At this point, that is a nice little added income for him. He will keep the band because they only play out twice a month at most. I'm proud of him. I wish he were still a Lutheran, but he wouldn't get this kind of thing.
He was laughing telling me he was following in my footsteps. Yep. I was church organist for many years. I miss it, but the arthritis is just too much, plus when I had the anurism in my left eye, that compromised my music reading.
Peace.
5 comments:
OH MY GOODNESS...this post completely made my day...I too have mother issues. Adopted out to a white family at the age of 4, reunited with biological family only to be met with a mom that is never more than scathing in her comments...I too vowed that I would not be "that sort of mom" but I still am grateful for SOME of the qualities taught me...
so there is THAT.
Yay for the son leading worship:-) my oldest son does the same!
We're kindreds, you and I!
I have the kind of mother that you turned out to be. She was determined not to treat us the way her mother treated her (and the way her mother treated us). Even though there are things I said I would never do with my children (and some of those words I had to eat), my relationship with my mom is good and I appreciate her efforts. So good for you! And thank you for visiting my blog too.
My Daddy was like that--it is hurtful no matter what parent it comes from. My Mother was a pretty neat woman. It's been almost 40 years since she died at age 53--too young.
Every now and then I hear my words coming out of my daughter's mouth toward her kids and it tickles me' cause--to begin with--they were my Mother's words.
Good post. I'm sorry you didn't have the kind of relationship with your mom that daughters need and deserve.
You mention being a church organist. I wonder if you saw this story in the Houston Chronicle. It was such an inspirational story. I get so tired of crime reports and celebrity gossip. If you didn't see this story, read it. It will make your day!
Susan, I read it! I didn't last as long as he did, but we began in a like manner. I was 16 when I played for my first service. It was something I enjoyed doing. That's one reason I am proud of my son - even if it's not in "our" church. He has found what his soul needs.
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