Like most of us who were born in a culture that was devised to inhibit personal growth, where we were expected to behave and conform, I resented the endless stream of rules and regulations that came to me courtesy of my mother. Hence, growing up, I resented my mother.
My mother had a strong opinion and a strict code of conduct for everything; how to sit (ladylike, with legs crossed), how to dress (she saved her strongest opinion for whenever I attempted to wear black), writing letters to friends (do not put anything in writing, EVER. Evidence! This rule, of course, pre-dated the internet and social media), how to laugh (mine was deemed slutty), how to enunciate my words (I spoke too fast), and when and where I could go. The rules expanded as I grew up to include who I was allowed to associate with and whom were deemed off-kilter. She often asserted the virtues of waxing whenever I chose the faster, less painful option (she deemed razors 'men-repellers'). She enrolled me in an etiquette class, lest, God forbid, I might use a dinner fork in place of my salad fork. She forbade me from taking ballet and gymnastics claiming that I would develop manly, muscular legs and arms. She picked an elitist college (in case I meet and fall in love with a class-mate, his background would be pre-approved by virtue of having attended said college). Rules that were rigid, archaic and often suffocating.
Contrived by my mother's standards and her unique approach on most matters, the numerous rules were a constant reminder of my shortcomings. In my eyes, my mother was a nuisance, a gnaw-er of some sort, a constant reminder of my flaws and imperfections. In my mind, she held me back. Ready to condemn my actions at a moment's notice, I felt that she was obstructing the journey to self-discovery. In short, I felt she was impeding my progress.
I'm well-aware that I might have painted an unfavorable picture of my mother, but that is the farthest thing from the truth. Adhering to tradition, or rather, those of the society that we lived in, were one aspect of her personality. However, she was much, much more. A trendy woman with ever-changing style, she was armed with poise and wisdom, to emulate her emotions and the passion and compassion that she possessed. She was a strong woman with strong opinions, a proud woman with dignity and integrity. Tenderness wasn't her strong feat, and not one to smile often, but she, like most mothers, was a nourish-er, a care provider, attending to every aspect of her children's lives. She nurtured and nursed us, she cultured us and cultivated our interests (except for ballet), all while educating us and attending to every aspect of daily life, all while attending to the needs of a demanding husband and an even more demanding social and professional calender. And, of course, she never held back the endless stream of unsolicited advice.
As fate's meddling finger interfered, I lost my mother at the young age of 48. According to doctors, my mom died of lung cancer (albeit, she never smoked), but the truth is, she died of sheer grief. Her heartache, the byproduct of a long, mostly unhappy marriage with an incompatible partner, my father. Years of bitter resentment and disappointment laden with tension, anguish and grief finally caught up.
I still hold on to my slutty laugh in sheer defiance, and I will forever favor the convenience of a disposable razor, but I learned a lot from my mother. While there is a lot that I still don’t know, I take solace in that I am my mother's best student and that her rules, unwillingly, unknowingly, somehow adhered.
Today, as I get ready to guide (impose my choice on) my son through the process of choosing a college, while offering insight on how to dress to impress (criticize his wardrobe of logo tees and tattered denims that have seen better days), all while I continue to instruct him on proper (get repulsed by his) table manners, I realize that life has come full circle, and that remnants of her are visible in me, and that I am a faint version of her, passing on all her advice (rules) to my unsuspecting children. My saving grace is that when I bark orders at them, as she did to me (yeah, democracy isn't our strong suit), I take the time to follow with an explanation (fine, fine! A lecture).
In her absence - I realize now - it is the rules that she gifted me with that have often illuminated my way, and the strict traditions she instilled in me is what has prevented me from straying far. I often long for my mom to lend an ear, wipe away a tear, or say a prayer for me, but it is her endless stream of advice that has given me the tools to navigate through life that I miss the most.
My mother had a strong opinion and a strict code of conduct for everything; how to sit (ladylike, with legs crossed), how to dress (she saved her strongest opinion for whenever I attempted to wear black), writing letters to friends (do not put anything in writing, EVER. Evidence! This rule, of course, pre-dated the internet and social media), how to laugh (mine was deemed slutty), how to enunciate my words (I spoke too fast), and when and where I could go. The rules expanded as I grew up to include who I was allowed to associate with and whom were deemed off-kilter. She often asserted the virtues of waxing whenever I chose the faster, less painful option (she deemed razors 'men-repellers'). She enrolled me in an etiquette class, lest, God forbid, I might use a dinner fork in place of my salad fork. She forbade me from taking ballet and gymnastics claiming that I would develop manly, muscular legs and arms. She picked an elitist college (in case I meet and fall in love with a class-mate, his background would be pre-approved by virtue of having attended said college). Rules that were rigid, archaic and often suffocating.
Contrived by my mother's standards and her unique approach on most matters, the numerous rules were a constant reminder of my shortcomings. In my eyes, my mother was a nuisance, a gnaw-er of some sort, a constant reminder of my flaws and imperfections. In my mind, she held me back. Ready to condemn my actions at a moment's notice, I felt that she was obstructing the journey to self-discovery. In short, I felt she was impeding my progress.
I'm well-aware that I might have painted an unfavorable picture of my mother, but that is the farthest thing from the truth. Adhering to tradition, or rather, those of the society that we lived in, were one aspect of her personality. However, she was much, much more. A trendy woman with ever-changing style, she was armed with poise and wisdom, to emulate her emotions and the passion and compassion that she possessed. She was a strong woman with strong opinions, a proud woman with dignity and integrity. Tenderness wasn't her strong feat, and not one to smile often, but she, like most mothers, was a nourish-er, a care provider, attending to every aspect of her children's lives. She nurtured and nursed us, she cultured us and cultivated our interests (except for ballet), all while educating us and attending to every aspect of daily life, all while attending to the needs of a demanding husband and an even more demanding social and professional calender. And, of course, she never held back the endless stream of unsolicited advice.
As fate's meddling finger interfered, I lost my mother at the young age of 48. According to doctors, my mom died of lung cancer (albeit, she never smoked), but the truth is, she died of sheer grief. Her heartache, the byproduct of a long, mostly unhappy marriage with an incompatible partner, my father. Years of bitter resentment and disappointment laden with tension, anguish and grief finally caught up.
I still hold on to my slutty laugh in sheer defiance, and I will forever favor the convenience of a disposable razor, but I learned a lot from my mother. While there is a lot that I still don’t know, I take solace in that I am my mother's best student and that her rules, unwillingly, unknowingly, somehow adhered.
Today, as I get ready to guide (impose my choice on) my son through the process of choosing a college, while offering insight on how to dress to impress (criticize his wardrobe of logo tees and tattered denims that have seen better days), all while I continue to instruct him on proper (get repulsed by his) table manners, I realize that life has come full circle, and that remnants of her are visible in me, and that I am a faint version of her, passing on all her advice (rules) to my unsuspecting children. My saving grace is that when I bark orders at them, as she did to me (yeah, democracy isn't our strong suit), I take the time to follow with an explanation (fine, fine! A lecture).
In her absence - I realize now - it is the rules that she gifted me with that have often illuminated my way, and the strict traditions she instilled in me is what has prevented me from straying far. I often long for my mom to lend an ear, wipe away a tear, or say a prayer for me, but it is her endless stream of advice that has given me the tools to navigate through life that I miss the most.
My mother (dressed in 'dreaded' black and white) surrounded by her three children, niece, nephew, a cousin and her father.
