Mommy ...
- Mario Foston
- Jun 10
- 4 min read
The month of June has become a conundrum for me. It is both the month in which I was born, and the month in which my mother died. I was born on June 21 and Mommy died on June 21…my birthday. The following excerpt is a tribute to my mother and the relationship we shared. Enjoy!
My mommy is a prissy, prissy poo. You know, the type that you can't imagine burping, even as an infant, when burping is fashionable, or at least expected. She is the type that would never laugh loudly enough in a restaurant to be heard by guests sitting in an adjoining booth. She knows all the rules for proper etiquette and uses them religiously. In comparison to me, mom probably surpasses perfection.
Of course I know all the rules for proper etiquette too. But I can't say that if I'm in your average restaurant it's going to even cross my mind to monitor the volume of my laughter, adjoining booth or not.
Mommy is calm and sincerely demure. I'm hyper and boisterous. She demands security. I'm a risk taker. She's often described as a real lady. My friends say I'm a nut. I'd like to stop at this point and assure you that I'm not demeaning myself by this candid admission. I'm merely illustrating how uniquely different my mom and I truly are.
Like most, when I was a teenager I was young enough to be daring, brave enough to be different, and vulnerable enough to lack discernment. With youth comes a certain vitality claimed only by age and experience. Although I wasn't aware of it at the time, I was simply trying to make my mark in my small but adequate world. As I approached womanhood my need for self-identity grew. (Fortunately, so did my ability to discern.)
Self-identity is a very normal and healthy tendency. Often however, this normal tendency is treated as a blatant, deliberate, rebellious attempt to be different or some would say disagreeable.
I witnessed my mother's concerns about our relationship as I transformed from mommy's little girl to mommy's daughter the woman. We've never talked about this but I wonder if my decisions, which were very different from hers, troubled her in some way.
I've seen talk shows and read books that suggested that mothers feel rejected and guilty when their daughters don't conform to their example. It's like a personal attack on the mothers' methods of training and molding.
It is possible that my mom's concerns were simply over my welfare as I never recognized feelings of guilt or rejection in her attitudes. But if those feelings were present we should have done or should do what every mother and daughter must do to secure an open relationship. We should talk about it.
Other women have verified that their moms felt guilty and rejected when they were unconforming. The fact is, while mothers feel guilty about their performance as caretakers, and rejected over their daughter's individuality, daughters in so many instances feel that they could never compete with their mom's pattern of perfection. So there you have it! Both mother and daughter are feeling inadequate over their own perceptions.
Mothers must look at daughters and daughters must look at mothers as originals. We are all genetically and chemically bonded with similar if not identical characteristics, but we are nevertheless unique.
As our society changes, daughters want mothers who will change and learn with them. They want friends instead of counselors. On the other hand mothers want to feel appreciated. They want their daughters to believe they did their very best.
In the beginning I said mom surpassed perfection in comparison to me. A more adequate viewpoint would be to say, "she is great." I feel as every daughter feels, or at least wants to feel, that my mom is the greatest ... not perfect, not all knowing, just the greatest.
Despite our differences my mother is a mirror in which I see myself. Now ... finally now, I understand. The same concerns she had for me and the same methods she used in rearing me are in so many ways identical to the concerns and efforts I manifest with my own children. My mother has always been what I hope to be for my children; my rescuer-the one bailing me out of hopeless situations. And when she refused to bail me out it was because she knew that it wasn't hopeless for me or my situation.
It's difficult for moms to lose their little girls. But in exchange they get big girls who still need to know they are loved and liked. Daughters need acceptance but more importantly they need approval from their mothers. I think every daughter secretly awaits the moment her mother realizes she is an equal. The rare and improbable moment when her mother's facial expression says, "I want to be just like you when I grow up."
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