Of all the things I do for my
daughters, I wonder how many will actually be remembered.
Don't get me wrong. Everything
I do, from stroking their feverish foreheads all night to slaving for hours
over cake pops that will never look a thing like they do on Pinterest, is done completely
out of love. I don't keep a tally nor do I leave Post-It Note reminders
of the moments I hope will be remembered. Still, I wonder. And
here's why.
My daughters and I recently planted
Venus Fly Trap and Sundew Savage seeds into a terrarium complete with red and
blue LED lights. As we read aloud about everything from the most fertile
soil to seedlings that would eventually become carnivores, my husband entered
the room and asked if my mother did as much stuff with me as I do with my 5 and
7 year olds. While I know for sure that she did, I can recall only a
select few times.
I can, however, remember in great
detail the few things she did that really upset me. For example:
1) I
come from a large family full of hockey players. Boys learned as babies
how to ice skate with chairs on homemade, backyard rinks before moving up to
peewee leagues, high school state championships and Division I collegiate
teams. So, growing up in a home where the smell of a musty hockey bag was
just as familiar as that of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, it should
come as no surprise that I (literally) wanted a piece of the game. But no
sooner did I tell my parents that I wanted to be an ice hockey goalie than my
mother put me in skates of my own. Unfortunately though, they were figure
skates. Those frilly lessons were very short-lived. Eventually I
gave up not only on pestering my parents, but on dreaming to play the
sport. That is, until I entered my freshman year at Boston College just
as they were developing their women's team. I remind my mother to this
day that had I been allowed to play, allowed to pursue my dream, I just may
have had a chance at a scholarship. She responds, very adamantly I might add, that what we'd have saved in my
tuition, we'd have spent in my dental bills. (Touché, Mom. Touché.)
2) I
was a very private teenager, or at least I tried to be. My mother was the kind
that almost always knew exactly what was happening in my life without my having
to say a word, so much so that I prided myself on her being incorrect. So
when my very first junior high yearbook came home with what I considered
insanely personal inscriptions from all my friends, I begged her not to read
them. Little did I know at the time that begging the parent of a teenager
not to do something almost always
guarantees that they will do just that. Immediately. Therefore when
I found her reading the messages, which couldn't have been any more racy than Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, I
was mortified. To this day, I have vowed not to do the same to my daughter
(or at least not to get caught).
3) When
my brother was a senior at boarding school, my parents helped he and his
friends put together a winter break co-ed ski trip. I remember vividly hearing my mother put the
security deposit for a condo on her credit card while making arrangements for
my brother to have her four-wheel drive vehicle for the trek. As a much
better student and a mere fraction of the trouble my brother was, I anxiously
awaited the day my parents would offer me the same arrangement. So when
time came to plan a similar getaway for my friends, I was shocked to learn
there'd be no such offering. Determined to know why, I asked my mother
repeatedly for an explanation as to how my brother could receive such
preferential treatment. Frustrated with my persistence and at the end of
her rope, my mother finally screamed her frighteningly honest answer.
"Because your brother can't get pregnant!" (Go
ahead. Gasp.)
I do honestly believe the sweetest
moments shared with my mother are the ones that shaped me into the mother and
woman I am today. However, they've really all merged to become more the
memory of one happy, inspired childhood than a collection of individually
blessed experiences. Sadly, it's the ugly ones that still stand out.
No one wants to be remembered more
for their weaknesses than their strengths. In parenting, especially for a
good parent (and my mother was an amazing one), I can imagine no greater
injustice.
I'd like to say that I learned from
(what I deemed as) my mother's mistakes, especially the few described
above. I'd also like to believe I will never make a similar decision that
will hurt or haunt my daughter into adulthood, but I know that will never
happen. In fact, I don't want it to happen. For if it does, I've likely
failed her in some way.
So please, will one of you remind my
daughter of that when she is a teenager?
