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.

Tellin it like it is. I think.

Anger. It has such power over the person who is consumed with this emotion. It can take hold and remain for a short period of time or it can linger in a person for years at a time. If we're not careful, it may evolve into a way of life, seep into our mannerisms . . . Since my mother's passing, I have had to deal with this particular emotion in many ways. I've directed it at undeserved people, I've internalized it for days/weeks/months, I've been undeserved receiver.

As the nine year mark approaches, I decided to confront the anger issue head on with regard to my father. This has been an incredibly difficult year in which he has had to adjust to many changes. And, along the way, his decision has been to strike out in anger towards me (and sometimes my other half) at times of his choosing. My father has a tendency of not hearing me, literally, or he chooses to ignore the words that I choose so carefully to say, especially with respect to the matter of my mother. So, I turned to the only other medium I could and wrote (well, typed) him an email expressing how I felt.

My bottom line message to my father was that his choosing to treat me with anger as he chooses is just unacceptable, that he does not act in accordance with the words that he says, that he knowingly sets people up for his manipulation, that he cannot make choices and then lash out in anger towards others because of the choices he makes. That he consistently states that we are family and should act as such, however he is incredibly guilty of not acting like he is part of a family.

It may not have been the most love-oozing letter to my father, but it was not intended that way. It was intended to express to him that I will not be his fall guy, so to speak, anymore for his anger. That I will not allow him to ignore questions, withhold information then act in anger accusing me that I do not care about his well-being. That I will not accept responsibility for his decisions that he later wants to be upset about. That it is his choice to not join my other half, myself and my other half's family for Thanksgiving, despite numerous invitations, and he lost his right to be angry thinking that no one wants to spend Thanksgiving with him.

This all came out in an effort to elicit particular important information regarding an upcoming event with respect to my father. Despite repeated requests for further details, including my long email this morning, he still refuses to divulge specific details. Rather I get the vaguest of information. Why I did this I have no idea. Oh yeah, it is so that he recognizes that I will not accept his behavior. And to have it in black and white that he was asked about certain things numerous times. It seems like that should be unnecessary, but it is given that he has an interesting way of recollecting things in which he is consistently right, even though he completely twists, inserts, omits, etc. words.

Don't get me wrong, I love my father. He's my father. And I understand that a part of him insists on remaining angry because my mother is no longer with us. There are days, sometimes continuous days, in which I am flat out angry. There are days when I direct that anger towards underserving folks. As much as I can, I try to keep myself in check and explain my disposition and apologize. My father . . . he is unable to do this. I understand he is my father. But, as a human being and as a daughter, I am entitled to some respect and consideration.

So, I told it how I see it. How I feel. And . . . as usual . . . I felt about this small because (1) my father again ignored my request for detailed information and (2) said nothing else with respect to my thought out letter.

Honestly, I don't know why I'm surprised or the slightest disappointed.

UPDATE to "Hold my hand"

I received the results of my mammogram. Thankfully, there are no signs of cancer. Huge sighs of relief were exhaled. Honestly, this is one area in which I want to be nothing like my mother. I don't want cancer. I don't want to have an abbreviated life. I don't want to suffer as I saw her suffer. I hate to sound selfish . . . but, I want that part of my life to be the polar opposite of my mother's.