A Mother’s Role (part 2)

The last blog was posted because of a comment someone made on Facebook.  She commented that her daughters grades (92, 89, 87, 90, 92, 97, 98) were too low and that she was “infuriated… these grades better go up!”  The child is in 7th grade and does gymnastics.  Considering the stress of both of those, these grades are something to be proud of.

So my reply to that post was “if I was (girl) I would be very disappointed that my mom couldn’t appreciate my hard work :(”  As you might imagine, this was well received by other moms but not so much by the person who posted the comment. My least favorite reply was “(girl) is a child and doesn’t have an option of being ‘disappointed’ in me- I am the parent.”

What I wanted to say to that would not have been well received by anyone. Again, I not going to censor myself here.  This blog is what I call “puking word vomit.” It is all that I think but a) don’t have the courage to speak out loud, b) can’t say for fear of hurting someone’s feelings or c) might get me fired (if work related).  Here, I have no one’s feelings to worry about.

“Hey bitch, a 12 year old has EMOTIONS and she can not only be DISAPPOINTED, she can outright HATE YOU.  I know because it happened to me and my dear old mother, fucker.  Just because you’re a PARENT, does not make you GOD.  You shouldn’t abuse your power over ANYONE, but -especially- YOUR CHILDREN.  You are entrusted with their safety, not just for the moment, but for LIFE.  This includes their physical wellbeing, and their EMOTIONAL, jackass.”    ***insert shaking head here***

Obviously, I kept that statement to myself.  It also scares me that this woman might become my sister-in-law…




A Mother’s Role.

Let me tell you a little secret.  I hate my mother.  She is a cruel, vindictive, manipulating, uneducated, poor reflection of a human being and dare I say, possibly even, slightly evil?

When I started this blog, I said that I would try not to censor myself.  So here goes.

If you’ve read the previous posts, you’ll know that I am not “normal” as a result of my abnormal childhood.  This resulted in a love-hate relationship with dear old mom.  So now, she’s in a nursing home (she had a stroke several years ago) and I see her every three/four days.  Not because I don’t want her to be lonely, not because I miss her, but out of guilt.  Guilt that she instilled in me at a very early age.  Guilt that she tried to instill in my girls at a very early age and I pray she was unsuccessful.  Guilt is not a very good reason to visit your mother.

They are quick visits and very poor “quality” visits at that.  Conversation is minimal and usually consists of complaints about the nursing staff.  She makes demands (“get the blanket” or “get me juice” or “I need more shampoo” etc) immediately when I walk in the door.  I wouldn’t mind that so much if she just asked how my day was.  But she never asks.  Ever.

I know it’s wrong to wish for someone’s death but it’s the truth.  Deep down, and for a very long time, I’ve wished for her death.  Her death would mean that she would no longer feel pain, would no longer be at someone else’s mercy, would finally be at peace.  If those were my sole reasons for wishing death upon her, perhaps I would not feel such guilt.  But I am flawed.  My reasons are selfish.  It would mean I would no longer have to face her.  I would no longer have to go out of my way to see her.  I would no longer have to pretend to care.  I would no longer have to deal with her demands.  I would no longer have to deal with her.


Perhaps a clarification is appropriate.  I am not a socialite, quite the opposite.  I’d like to be, if not a socialite, then perhaps more socially acceptable.  I’m not a complete weirdo, just slightly.

It would probably help if I stated some things from my childhood.  At some point or another, all of us believe that our childhood was far from normal.  This is true for me and many others, I’m sure.  I give credit to the Brady Bunch for being as “normal” as I am today.  My mother was diagnosed bipolar with paranoid tendencies when I was in high school.  Of course by then, the damage was quite done, like a burnt turkey on Thanksgiving, the kind that you poke with a fork and smoke comes out of it.

When I was going to school, my mother would tell me exactly what to say and what to do, I was not allowed to think for myself.  She would also make comments like “nobody wants to be your friend, they just want to get the details of your life for their own purposes.”  Or perhaps the typical “don’t tell them anything!  They’ll just use it against you later.”

If you’re wondering how a child makes friends when she’s not allowed to “tell anyone anything” you can stop wondering.  It doesn’t happen.  Can you imagine what happens to a child in school when he/she doesn’t have friends?  It wasn’t pretty.

I did eventually figure out that things would go easier if I mimicked what the girls around me were doing.  And there are plenty of girls who just want someone to listen to them.  So that’s what I’d do.  I became “friends” with a few of the other girls who wanted nothing more than to talk about themselves to anyone who would listen.  I would smile at the appropriate times, complement their new hairstyles or the pretty outfit and survived school almost unharmed.  For the most part, I stayed under the radar and made it through.

This blog won’t be about my childhood, though, it’s about the person I became as a result of those experiences, but most of all, it’ll be about the person I want to become.  I am old enough and smart enough to know that those experiences shaped the person I am today, but I have the control to shape the person I want to be.  I have the control now.