Becoming My Mother
By
Celeste Palermo, Copyright 2004
I am becoming my mother. I confuse the names of my children. I chase my kids around preaching the value of sunscreen. I have “clean out the fridge” dinner nights when I whip up Mom’s Surprise. I am more apt to buy an outfit for my kids than for myself. On occasion, I even call my husband, “Dad.”
When I look in the mirror, I see her. I have her legs, her eyes, her smile. When I was thirteen, the idea of becoming my mother did not excite me. I had my own agenda and my own style. I did not intend to become like my mom. I had different plans. Yet now, some twenty years later, I am thankful for it.
I think in some ways, we all become our parents. Having been raised by them, we leave the nest with a few parental feathers glued to our growing wings. If we are lucky, these feathers give us loft. They help propel us upward toward our dreams and goals. They stabilize us in tough times. They cushion our landings when we tumble from the sky. Then, as we grow feathers of our own, we not only fly, but soar. Perhaps gaining even more altitude than they, with the added down on our appendages.
Hopefully, becoming like our parents is a good thing. Growing up, I watched my parents closer than my dog watches a box of Milkbone biscuits. I witnessed their decisions, their choices, how they handled good times and bad. My dad modeled a steadfast work ethic of loyalty, honesty, and fairness. My mom demonstrated compassion, strength, and creativity. Both parents encouraged my sister and me. They held us accountable for our actions, imparted solid values, and once we were old enough, trusted us to make good decisions. The feathers I took from the nest have, for the most part, added loft to my life.
I learned by example, as most do. Although I have my own interests and my own life, I have evolved into an adult much like my parents. Now, as a mom with little eyes looking up to me, I am appreciative of my parents more than ever. I am thankful for their sacrifices, their decisions, for the people they chose to be—they had a big part in who I am.
I know I have mentioned this before, but it is worth repeating: What I do, more than what I say, will either add or subtract loft from the lives of my children. I need to be the person I hope they will become. If I want them to be kind, I must be kind. If I want them to be healthy, I must model a healthy lifestyle. If I want them to laugh at themselves, I must also. If I want them to trust in God, I need to demonstrate faith and hope in the Lord. God is their Heavenly Father—He can give them feathers for eternal flight, not just for earth’s short flight plan. Helping them know Him and model His perfect example is the best thing I can do, bar none.
I hope years down the road, my girls will look in the mirror, see a reflection of me, and be grateful. I hope they will call me, long after they are grown, to share their lives and get my advice. I still steal feathers of wisdom from my parents—padding my own goosey flesh when I have lost my heading or when my feathers are ruffled; their life experience lends a perspective. My mom and dad continue to participate in my life adventures as well. I call them often, to give back by sharing my joys.
I hope to be as wise as my mom. I hope to be to my girls what she is to me—drenching them in feathers as if they have been glue-dipped before a pillow fight. This is not to say that along with the wisdom feathers, we do not get some quirks I like to call “momisms”—things my mom did that I now do. For example: I cannot follow a recipe without improvising. I go to the store only to forget what I went for, but can locate any lost item in the house. I fall asleep during a video I have wanted to see for a year. I have a penchant for prunes.
It is somewhat eerie to realize I am becoming so much like my mom, but it is wonderful as well. It is her legacy to me, and will be mine to my children—a gift of little moments and love in the details.
