I’m trying something new in 2016 for the “Diary” part of this blog. Each month, Dana from KissMyList.com will give a prompt for a virtual scrapbook entry that tells a story about Who I Am. If you’d like to join, see Dana’s Tell Your Story post. This month’s prompt asked participants to write about their childhood.
When my mom dispensed wisdom, it usually came like a slap: strong and direct, with a bit of sting.
The first time I remember her advice-giving, I was about six. We were living in Milwaukee, a few blocks away from my grandmother. Mom had just been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and Dad had just left for a tour of duty in Korea. Of course, I didn’t know the adult stuff. I just knew I saw my grandmother more and had these new people called cousins in my life.
The event that prompted Mom’s advice was ordinary enough: a walk home from school. It felt like an odyssey back then, but it was just four blocks. I wore my red coat with the fur-lined hood that Aunt Kathy gave me, and probably hideous plaid pants that everyone loved in the ‘70s. I walked with my best friend on one side, and on the other, a girl who was friends with both of us but whom I regarded with caution. She’d tossed my shoes into a puddle the first week of kindergarten. Unfortunately, she lived near us, so we were stuck with her.
On this particular day, a first grader named Jimmy Galbraith walked ahead of us. He had curly dark hair, a crooked smile, and my hopeless devotion. Unfortunately, the girls with me knew this. I missed most of their conversation, daydreaming about Jimmy as I floated along the sidewalk twenty yards behind him.
After a block or so, shouting brought me crashing back to earth.
Untrustworthy Girl was yelling at Jimmy and his friends. They turned to look at us. She poked my shoulder. “She likes you! She likes you! Beat her up! Beat her up!”
My body burned crimson under my coat. I struggled to breathe, played off my tears as a reaction to the bitter wind blowing off Lake Michigan. Best Friend told Untrustworthy Girl to shut up.
Jimmy shook his head and turned away, continuing his walk home.
Sobs of humiliation threatened to burst out of every orifice in my head, but I stumbled on with lips pressed together and tears subdued until I got to my apartment. Once safe inside with Mom, I deteriorated into snot and tears. Mom was a good listener, but never a coddler. When I finished my story, she handed me a tissue and said, “I’m sorry this happened, but why in the world did you tell those girls? Next time, be more careful who you trust, and never tell anybody who you like.”
I remembered this advice when I was ten, and the principal’s daughter wanted blackmail material on me, and thirteen, when my friends insisted we play Truth or Dare.
Mom had more valuable wisdom as I grew up:
- Always say good-bye and I love you; never part angry. (Meaning – you’d better kiss me goodnight and tell me you love me before you stomp off, daughter.)
- Never put anything sensitive in a note; it might come back to haunt you. (Modern translation: Never say anything potentially offensive on social media; it will never go away.)
- Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face. (In other words, don’t refuse to eat your lunch just because your friends didn’t save a space for you. They won’t care and you’ll just end up hungry.)
I had 25 years with my mom, enough time to store up plenty of her frank, and sometimes cynical, advice, but not enough time to understand the complex mix of strength, disappointment, and frustration caught inside a body wrecked by neurological disease.
Pneumonia, a side effect of her illness, stole her from me twenty years ago this month. I will be forever thankful that I was with her at the end. I told her I loved her, and we weren’t angry when we parted.
What were some defining moments from your childhood?
If you’d like to join this virtual scrapbook project, click the photo above to visit Dana’s blog and learn more.
Thanks for reading!
