My Mother's Child

They say that the sins of the father are revisited on the son. I believe that to be true.

I did some thinking the other day, in light of having the house to myself, with nothing to do but laundry and Lifetime, and I came to the conclusion that I am a good parent, but for all the wrong reasons.

I love my mother, but I resent her at the same time. I am not plagued with the vile hatred one thinks of when the word resentment is typically used, but I have the type of resentment that derives from being placed on a pedestal, then ripped down from it, all in the same breath. The type of resentment that comes out of having so many expectations placed on you, so many responsibilities thrown in your lap, only to be insulted with the doubt that I can fulfill them to any level of efficiency. The type of resentment you find when being the family Golden Child amounts to nothing more than never being good enough.

I hate my father - I admit it - but the fact of the matter is, I never really knew him and I have no desire to. In my mind, he’s been dead since 1999 when …. Well…. Just 1999.

Now as I type this, I realize that I am the parent that I am, yes, because I want for my children to have all the things that I wasn’t afforded, including an actual parent-child RELATIONSHIP not predicated on some desire to be lauded by people who don’t matter, for some smokescreen of achievements they delude themselves into thinking they had anything to do with, but also because there are things I endured at the hands of my parents that I have never been able to fully forgive them for. I tell myself I have, but deep down, there is still something there. I see that I do what I do for and with my children because I am afraid that if I fail them, they might never forgive me.

I grew up in a single parent home, at times on the taxes of millions, never knowing there was anything else until it was too late to make me insecure. I guess I should be thankful for that. Then at a relatively young age, by the standards I knew at the time, I settled down, had a couple of kids, and set out on my way to what society says is the “right” way to raise a family - two incomes, two cars, a mortgage and a ring. Thirteen years and 3 vehicle repos later, I am still my mother‘s child.

I’ve avoided the system, but not the sins, and there is no absolution. Everything I have ever done, everything I will do from this day on will always lead me back to the same result - I am my mother’s child.

I sometimes sit and wonder about my sisters - how they feel about their place in the world and if they …like the neighborhood. I wonder if they feel the pressure I always have to be something else. Not even better, just something ELSE. Then I think about that mindset and wonder if it’s a futile effort, because try as I may, succeed as I will, on the inside, I might never be anything more than my mother’s child.

But without my mother, I wouldn’t even be here. And maybe one day, twenty years from now, my kids will be writing a blog, reflecting on their lives, and appreciating - even if they don’t quite understand - all the things their mother did for them, even if her reasons were wrong.

I am my mother’s child. But maybe - just maybe - that’s enough.