my mother and i have a lifelong love/hate relationship, and it would be easy for me to spend the rest of my life cataloging what was wrong. but what is the point in that? i am dead to her, have been written out of the will, am forbidden to be anywhere in her presence. i could rail against this, but again, there is no point. i would prefer to look for things that she did right, versus what she did wrong. they don't give you a manual when you give birth that tells you how to parent. you do the best you can. i think in her own way she did the best she could. she wasn't equipped to emotionally handle a hyperactive, emotional child. no one gave her the tools, and the childhood she had did nothing towards helping her find those tools. she learned to survive, and to do that she built an emotional wall that i have not been able to often breech. i am sorry about that. i have tried, and i wish it were different. but i cannot make her like or love me, and i can't spend my life saying i had a terrible childhood. i didn't. there were things that were good.
the memory that comes to me first is that of my mother reading to me. she ordered me the books that came once a month and i was enthralled with them. she did read some to me, and she made sure i went to the library and the bookmobile with her. i have to attribute my love of reading to my mother. she was and still is a voracious reader, so she set a good example. she never censored me or checked what i was reading, so i pretty much had carte blanche when it came to checking out books or reading about any subject.
third grade was not a good year for me in so many ways socially and otherwise. however, it was the year that my teacher read us CHARLOTTE'S WEB and that i fell in love with the books about davy crockett and daniel boone. we had a day when we could dress up as our favorite book character, and i choose these two. my outfit was a suede jacket that my mother had. she cut up the jacket somehow so that it looked like it had fringe on it. she also somehow managed to make me a makeshift coonskin cap. it was not a full cap. just a ring around my head and a tail. i also got to wear pants i think and maybe a white shirt that was too big. i was dressed like a boy character. i don't think she was thrilled, but i was. however, a much richer boy at school came completely decked out as daniel boone/davy crockett, complete with the very real fringe jacket and a coonskin cap that was not makeshift. it made me feel lesser, but i still loved the jacket and the outfit. however, the jacket disappeared somehow after this day. i wanted to wear it more, but it was gone. why i don't know. however, i do know my dad to this day still teases me about wanting to wear a coonskin cap!
my mother gave me records a few times, which is something i loved, and i especially remember that she tried to buy things she thought i would like. one christmas in high school she bought me some albums: Jim Croce, who i didn't know much about (but who i came to love and ultimately purchased all of his albums); the soundtrack to MY FAIR LADY because at that point she had figured out i liked musicals and was watching a lot of them in reruns on tv, including that one. barbra streisand because i thought she was wonderful. she didn't know enough about me to be able to buy anything specific, but she tried. my first 45's were at christmas when i was in the 4th or 5th grade. i remember them as well: "WE CAN WORK IT OUT" by the Beatles; "OVER AND OVER" by the Dave Clark 5, and "I AM A ROCK" by Simon and Garfunkel. i played them to death, and saved up my 75 cents to be able to continue to buy 45's. when i went to the kings departments store or with my grandmother to the dime stores on granby street, i always went to the records department to see what they had. i didn't always get to buy, and sometimes i really had to struggle to pick the one record i could buy and take home. i spent a lot of time in my room listening to the 45's over and over, as well as the albums i eventually bought. i still have many of them.
from reading comes good writing, and while i have often shirked from showing her things i wrote, i think she has been proud of that, especially when i have been published. she has rarely encouraged me to do much, but writing has been one thing that she felt i should continue to do, maybe write children's books she said. in one way i am fulfilling that request by writing on this blog. she will never read it, but i am doing it and i feel good about that part of me.
i was never much of a doll kind of girl, and when the barbie dolls came out, i did not have one. i did want one, and my recollection is that my father went to kings and bought me just the barbie doll. it was around $3 or so. the clothes for the barbie were outrageously expensive and i over time had very few outfits for barbie. however, my mother did knit a blue outfit for her and made a few handmade outfits for her. i appreciated that and i know she did it because she wanted me to have some clothes for the doll when i played with the other kids.
no fifth grader wants to be unfashionable, and i was no exception. my mother made some of my clothes, but i didn't like wearing them because the kids at the bus stop made fun of me about them. i had heard the stories from her about not having nice clothes when she was growing up, so i wore them with both a sense of shame and a sense of sorrow. i felt bad for my mother and what she had been through. i couldn't really tell her that i didn't like them because i knew it would make her mad and hurt her feelings. i finally did get mad and tell her that i didn't want anymore homemade clothes. she did not take that well and said a fair amount of mean things back to me. but i didn't have anymore homemade clothes either. from then on, she bought me what she wanted me to wear, regardless of what i wanted. there was a compromise somewhere in the middle, but she marshaled my fashion choices up until i was way into adulthood. i have maintained the same attitude about those choices, in that she only buys what she wants to buy me. but i think in some way it was her attempt to have me look nice and that drive to do so is a direct response to her own upbrining and the lack of nice things. she has worked to have nice things and appreciates them much more than most people. i have never cared much about expensive things and clothing is not a priority. unfortunately, we are not on the same wave length and i am an embarrassment to her in just about every way physically. but at this stage of my life, i still understand. i have tried to be grateful and to give her the accolades that she felt she deserved for the gifts of clothing despite whether or not i wanted it or would have picked it out for myself. i have given her free reign over makeup, hairdos, haircuts and all sorts of clothing because i thought it would please her and make her like me better.
we have a shared interest in dishes and recipes and some cooking. she has often gifted me with dishes and serving trays and bowls, etc. i have often thought that it was easier for her to buy something like that versus saying anything meaningful. so i have taken the gifts of dishes and cookbooks and things of that ilk as her way of making some connection with me. i have kept many things, almost ALL things, that she has given me in that way. they have no market value, but were just symbolic to me.
my grandmother and i were much alike, much to my mother's consternation, and i spent what seemed to me to be most every weekend with my grandmother. there could be lots of reasons why, but my mother had no problem letting me go, and i think my grandmother somehow knew i needed to be with her. there was no pressure from her, and she was quirky and happy for the most part, although never fully healthy. my mother's intentions may not have been surfacely based on any feeling for me. however, i want to believe that deep down inside she knew she could not give me what i emotionally needed from a parent, so she sent me to my grandmother who was (in my mother's eyes), never much of a parent. my mother has still a great resentment for my grandmother. she believes that my grandmother did not care about her children's appearances or needs, that she was weak. there probably was a lot true about that, but i will never know. my grandmother gave me room to just do what i wanted, be it reading or watching tv or writing up recipe cards. that kind of one on one time did not happen with my mother. she was busy with my asthmatic brother and focused on him. as she told me, i didn't need her. he did.
a few months ago the mother of one of my colleagues died at age 90 and i went to her graveside services. her children and grandchildren spoke about her and things she had done over her life. there were a few tears, some good laughs, and the emergence of a person who was multifaceted and apparently well loved by her family. as i drove home from that service, i was thinking about what i would say if asked to speak at my mother's funeral. what good things would i talk about with fondness? what could i say about her that would be sincere? in a very horrifying moment, i realized i could not think of a single thing. not one. anything good that i thought of would be immediately countered with the ugly flip side of the situation. she was a good businesswoman and a professional...but she was also ruthless sometimes in how she dealt with people. she often appears to be totally sincere and interested in you. she will compliment, chat, do all the things friends will do. but at the same time, if you cross her in anyway or your actions displease her, she is like the human camcorder and the "recorded" mistakes that you have made are set loose and marched in front of you. i don't think i can think of a single person that she has ever liked completely. everyone has faults and has garnered her distaste at some point. but the plus is that she at least tries to be nice. she is very much the southern woman in that she is never insulting, rude or sarcastic to anyone, even if she loathes them. it is amazing to see her operate sometimes. i just don't have that ability to be that insincere, but she is probably better off for the ability to do it than i am. i bruise way too easily. she doesn't appear to bruise at all.
in all crisis situations, my mother is the one who is level headed and organized. she shows no emotion and knows exactly what to do. when my uncle teddy died when i was in college, my mother was the one who organized the cataloging of all of the food brought in so that my aunt would know who brought what and would be able to be specific in thank you notes. my mother kept everyone in the kitchen organized in the preparation and delivery of food and drink. she kept everyone on time. she did respect my wishes not to view any bodies and came to my defense on the days when there was a family funeral and i was mortified at the thought of seeing bodies. she did run interference with my dad's family when uncle teddy died and nan, my father's mother, died. i am grateful for that.
i have, unfortunately, inherited in my old age the ability to not tell family members about bad things, at least not in a timely basis. ironically, it is my parents that i have kept information from, almost all of it dealing with austin and the sometimes disappointing things that he has done and that i know will upset them. my father actually knows some of these things, but a number of them my mother does NOT know about and daddy and i have agreed that we would all be better if she is kept in the dark. she was the one i learned this from. she more than a few times let me finish exams or get through some sort of crisis before letting me know that something worrisome had happened.
my time spent with my grandmother i believe was a way for my grandmother to have a second chance at doing something right with a child. my mother did not think that she had been given what she needed. rightly or wrongly, my grandmother got a second chance when i was born, and at that time in her life she was able to do that. i felt this way when austin was born, and i have encouraged him to have a relationship with her that is NOT based upon anything other than one on one with her. if there is anyone that she really loves and is fierce about, it is austin. she has spent a lot of time buying him things, doing things for him, taking interest in his baseball. she follows his games on the radio, sitting with her little computer watching the game tracker. until this last falling out, she would talk to me after the games and she knew exactly how many strikes he had thrown, how many walks he had had. she was rarely critical of him, although she could certainly shred his teammates and his coaches. i have always viewed this attitude about anyone who would be a rival or a threat to austin as being a protective gesture. the nastiness of it is very disturbing sometimes, but at this point i have to believe that despite what she says, the real basis for it is love. if she has that capability, i want her to express it as best she can. if austin is the recipient, that that is good. i am not jealous of him or his relationship with her. i am happy about that.
she is not a hugger, and watching her trying to hug or greet someone is sometimes painful to watch in its awkwardness. she is not one to tell you she loves your or to compliment you. she once said to me that she didn't need to tell me she loved me...i knew it. well, that didn't fly with me, and it still doesn't. most people express their love for people. but i recognize that this generally accepted behavior is not something that my mother can do, or at least not easily. i appreciate and am often saddened by her efforts. it makes me sad that it is so hard for her to try. but that is who she is and she can't do much better. she doesn't want to change at this point in her life, and i respect that i think. it does not uncomplicate my life or the awkwardness of my current family situation. but it is life, both mine and hers, and it has to be taken one day at a time. i am trying hard to see the bigger picture and to let go of my anger and sadness about the course of our relationship over a lifetime.
the love of reading that she gave me led me to many worlds that i could escape to. the irony of it all is that from those many books i learned to believe that people could or should act like the characters in books. people should have good virtues and practice them as often as they could. we should always strive to be kind. yet in my real life, that has become a great expectation that was not always delivered. in my mother's real world, and in mine, there are no guaranteed happy endings, and quite a few disappointments. however, you don't get soul growth from having a life of bliss and easiness. you get it from the trying and difficult situations. so in that way, i have my mother to thank for a lot of soul growth in this life. if nothing else, that may be the greatest thing she did right.
No comments:
Post a Comment