Not my friend

While driving to work today, a portion of the radio show I listen to addressed the relationship between a mother and daughter. And most callers discussing this topic stated their mom is their friend. In some cases, their best friend. Of course, I then reflected on what my relationship was with my mother and how I'll never know what it is like to be friends with my mother as an adult. Who knows . . . would we even be friends now? And then thinking of these things, a twinge of bitterness rolls through my heart.

As I've mentioned before in previous posts, my mother and I weren't the best of friends. We didn't really even get along. Ok, put us in a room, alone, for more than 60 seconds, and likely a fight would erupt. No joke. I now know that we are just too similar for our own good. And that probably would have gotten in the way of a truly functional friendship. But I feel robbed of the opportunity to have a failed friendship with my mother. And though I'll never know what it could have been like to be friends with my mother as an adult, I must thank her for not being my friend when I was a child and growing up.

When I taught elementary school, I often noticed parents (mothers, especially) being more of a friend to their child than a parent. This was evident in their communication and interactions. Inside I marveled and was mortified because my students, their children, behaved in ways that would have been totally unacceptable in my house growing up. I noticed my students would have a general flippant attitude towards adults. And then the real evidence of my students lack of respect for their parent, their friend, would be when parents (especially mothers) would express to me how their child would insist on something being completed or done because of me, their teacher. Parents would come to me and say how they couldn't understand why their child was so "bad" at home, but always heard glowing reports from me regarding behavior. How to balance the fun and being the adult is something I learned from my mother by example.

As I look back, I see that my mother mastered the art of teaching me that all adults are to be respected and heeded and that most of all, even though we may have fun together, at the end of the day . . . she's the mom. And that's what I did in my classroom - I had fun, great fun, with my students but I always made sure that at the forefront of everything was the simple fact that I was the teacher . . . I was the adult. And , for whatever reason, for however I managed to strike the balance, there were very few times in which my students needed reminding of their behavior and communication. And it made for many incredibly fun days as a teacher.

Now, I am no longer a teacher and look forward to the day when I am a mother. And I look forward to passing on to my child(ren) the values, respect, sense of fun, etc. that my mother instilled in me.

So no, there will never be a day when I am able to giggle like a school girl with my mother or go on a shopping spree with her. But, there will be many a days when her lessons are always manifested in the way I conduct myself with others. And that is because my mother was a mother, not a friend. And I'm quite alright with that.

Always wear clean underwear

Last night I started reading a book called Things I Want My Daughters to Know by Elizabeth Noble. It's basically about a mother who writes a letter to each 0f her four daughters upon realizing she is running out of time. As I was reading the book, I wondered, if my mother had written me a letter of things she wanted me to know . . . what would she have told me. Would she had given me tips on being married? On being a mother? Maybe tips on how to plan a wedding? I don’t know. Would my mother have reminisced about the past? Would she have shared knowledge with me that she would have found helpful to me as an adult?

Whatever she would or would not have written, I think that I would have liked one last thing from her. Something that was just between me and her. Something that she took time to do that was from her to me. When I was born, or shortly thereafter, my father started a journal for each of his children. When we packed up the family house and he made his way to California, he gave me a small journal. I realized it was his writings over the years. Though he wrote it was from both he and my mother, it was clear who took the time to write entries. I think I saw one entry out of all of them that my mother wrote. But, in the journal, my father wrote of my learning how to talk, walk, count, etc. He described what a pain I was to eat a meal with because I was so slow and picky. I learned a few things about my childhood that, well, are still true today. However, I also know that there are just some things that a father cannot tell or explain to his daughter. There are things that only a mother can tell, share or explain with her daughter. And now, I don’t have that. Ok, so I didn’t exactly take advantage of that when my mother was alive . . . but I guess that is the benefit of hindsight, right?

Seriously, though . . . there are so many unanswered questions for me . . . so many things that my mother won’t be around to help me with. Now, some of those things, sure, I can figure them out on my own. But it definitely would have been nice to have her experience to draw from. But then there are things I think about like what will it be like when I am pregnant? What did being a wife mean to her? What did being a mother mean to her? If there were things she could change or improve, what would they be? What lessons would she want to pass on to me?

There is a reason why there are those who came before us . . . it’s so we can learn from them so that we can at least avoid those mistakes. But most importantly, I know that our parents may also serve as our guides – not just for what we want, but also as what we don’t want, in some cases. Sure there are people in our lives we can draw knowledge and advice from, but it’s not the same. There is no replacement. There is no substitute.

I know for me, I could probably sit down and write a letter to my future child and come up with a few things that I would want him or her to know. I’ve already begun creating a recipe book so that my future child(ren) will have a piece of their mother always. I have jewelry that my mother passed on to me that I want to pass on to my children. And I know that I will do the same as my father, and keep a journal for my children. I want to leave traces of me behind for my children.

So, I can’t help but wonder . . . what things did my mother want me to know?