Oldie But Goodie: The Daughter Becomes the Mother

This blog was originally posted on March 23, 2007

It’s a scary moment when a woman realizes she’s becoming her mother.  Not that there’s anything wrong with my mother. She’s beautiful, strong, generous, and funny. She went from welfare to the NYPD. No, she wasn’t arrested you ding-dongs! She was a cop.

I’m not saying I’m a better mother.  Sure, Kali’s life is different than mine was at her age. She lives in a house now that is much nicer than any house I ever lived in.  As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t say I’m a better mother than anyone who loves, takes care of, provides for, and protects their children.  We all do the best we can. And that’s exactly what my mother did. The best she could. We were always healthy, happy, and safe. Everything else is just packaging.

I will say I’m a lot more fun than my Mom was with me. Then again, she also had four other kids, a house to clean, and a dangerous job. Hell, she wasn’t having fun with us because she loved us less, her ass was just tired.

Imagine how scary it is to not only realize you are becoming your mother, but that your child is turning into you, all at the same time. Yesterday, Kali had a meltdown. Why? The batteries in her DirecTV remote were dead and she couldn’t change the channel to watch her favorite show. Yes, I know. Back when I was growing up I didn’t have my own television in my room. If my mother was watching Donahue my siblings and I had to imagine what was going on with our favorite programs.

Nina: Then Rog says, “You’re not gonna tell Mama, are you?”

My sister: And Dee says, “No. I won’t tell…if you give me a quarter.”

(canned laughter)

My brother: Then Dwayne comes in, “Hey, hey, hey.”

So, last night Kali storms past the study in a blur of pouty lips and wild hair.  I hear her rummaging through the kitchen drawers.  Donny asks her what she’s looking for. She growls a response. I barely make out the words “batteries.”

“Here, Kali,” I called out. I handed her two batteries from the computer desk. She stomps upstairs. Donny comes into the study, “That girl is so much like you it’s scary.”

“I don’t act like that!”

I totally act like that.

As she reaches the top of the stairs I hear a thump and then a wail.  In her huff she managed to wack her hand against the banister. Here’s what my mother would have said to me, “That’s what you get for flouncin’ your butt around.”

I settled for the more succinct, “Good for you.” Don’t worry, she couldn’t hear me. I was downstairs, remember?  After we realized I’d given her bad batteries, and with her hand throbbing, what followed was about five minutes of pure hysteria. By the time I figured out a solution (we just gave her the DTV remote from our room) my child was a heap of quivering, sobbing, flesh and tears on the floor of the formal living room.

I laid down with her. Rubbed her back and wiped her tears. I kissed her wet face. I explained that she couldn’t react that way every time something went wrong. Donny was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed watching the whole thing.

“Hello, Pot. Have you met Kettle?”

The one thing that all parents have in common is that we ask our kids to lie. We teach them not to, and we damn sure make it clear that they can’t lie to us, but all parents will ask their children to lie at some point. Anyone who says otherwise is…well, lying.

Kali’s school is having a Fun Run fundraiser to obtain a new gym floor.  For the next week the kids get pledges from family, friends, and local businesses.  Everyday they bring in their pledge sheet and get prizes. So, if I pledge $10 for every lap Kali will walk/run she gets a camera. A $3 per lap pledge gets her a ball.  The prize for the $50 per lap pledge is an iPod Nano.  Of course, that’s the only prize that the child has to complete the race, and collect the money, before they can collect.

I explained to Kali that normally that iPod would cost about $150. I told her if I pledged $50 per lap, and she did one lap, we’d get the iPod she wanted for her birthday for $100 less, and we’d also help the school get a new gym floor.  I then made her familiar with the terms, “can’t beat that with a stick” and “win-win.” The problem, of course, is that I have to trust that my child will not do more than one lap. She assures me she can handle doing one lap only and then sitting the rest out.  We decide to practice to be sure.

“Ok, Kali. I’ll be the Fun Run people, and you be you. You just finished running/walking one lap. You ready?’

“Wait.”

She then proceeds to run through the kitchen, foyer, formal living and dining rooms, and back to me in the kitchen.  She stands before me huffing and puffing, leaned over with her hands resting on her knees.

“Ok, I’m ready.”

Hey, my child’s a professional.

“Hey, little girl. You only ran one lap. Don’t you want to do more?”

“No, just one.”

“Are you sure? All your friends are doing more. You can really help your school!”

“No, that’s okay. I just want to do one because my Mommy said we can’t afford an iPod the other way.”

Yeah, so. We still gotta practice that part.