OMG, I've Become my Mother

My Mom and Me (on top of a car)

It was Sharon in one of her wifely moments who early on commented that I was becoming ‘just like your mother.’ I can’t remember what I was doing and it hardly matters. Something I did reminded Sharon of my Mother’s odd, sometimes eccentric moments. I’m sure I just shrugged my shoulders and replied: ‘Whatever.’ It’s always easier that way when you’re just starting out.

As time progressed, I’d begin to take issue with Sharon’s continuing comments about my mother and her idiosyncratic behavior. Mind you, it was never enough to escalate into an argument. ‘I suppose so’ was enough to quell her observations and end it there for the time being.

But as we spent decades together it slowly dawned on me that Sharon’s comments were more insightful than I gave her credit for. In many instances I was emulating my mother’s behavior and wasn’t even conscious about it. That or I was in total denial.

Early on, I was aware of one characteristic that defined my mother and to a degree myself. It was prevalence for hard work and focused determination. My mother only had a sixth grade education and held menial jobs all her life but she wasn’t afraid of hard work. It was born of an agrarian background and understanding that anything worth pursuing will take work. That said, some of her other actions were hard to fathom at first.

Our home on Randolph Ave

After she and my uncle built the house I was raised in, my mother used to put little notes in all her instruction manuals and on the HVAC system. The notes indicated date of purchase, warranties, comments from the installer and other sundry information. I thought it had to have been one of the dumbest things I’d ever heard of until I found myself pondering the purchase date of our own appliances when they went bad.

Then once I began acquiring investment properties I still wasn’t smart enough to make notes on each HVAC system at the time of purchase or when repairs were made. It took a long time for me to recognize the wisdom of my mother’s little notes.

My mother would always prepare the coffee maker the night before. Again, a habit that didn’t make much sense until I found myself one morning, groggy from the night before and no caffeine to jolt me awake. The process of preparing coffee that morning reinforced the wisdom of her preparing it the night before.

The first thing my mother and step-father would do upon a return from a trip was to sort, wash and put away all their clothes. I saw little benefit in their hurried cleanup efforts until I found my own travel clothes scattered about and couldn’t remember which had been washed and which hadn’t. Turns out, it was a good habit to get into.

My mother and stepfather loved dancing and would go out two or three times a week. I never took up that skill but pretended to be a runner for more than forty-five years. Kind of the same. She loved to play cards. I’d rather have my teeth pulled out by a draft horse. But I can sit and write for hours on end and find it immensely pleasurable. Go figure.

Mom and I

For a woman with little to no education, my mother was one hell of a street-smart lady. She understood the critical importance of education and I’m sure I picked that up through a subconscious kind of osmosis of the world around here. She wanted the same for her own kids.

Slowly but surely, in denial or not, I was observing and emulating her actions even thought I didn’t really know it at the time. I was seeking my freedom and independence but couldn’t shake those unmistakable lessons I’d been taught by her actions alone.

I wish my Mother were around today. I’d admit to her about being slow on the uptake but very curious what other tricks she might have up her sleeve. Examples were given on almost a daily basis and I didn’t even know I was in class.

So, thanks Mom, belatedly, for your patience and understanding. And if there is a place above the clouds I’m sure you’re looking down and chuckling: “It took you a little while, but you finally ‘got it.’  Good for you, son.”