I still remember the day over twenty years ago when I did not want to go to PE in high school. I begged my mom to write me a note and claimed I was well enough to go to school but too sick to go to PE later in the day. My mom refused to write me a note and I also remember feeling like on that day my mom was the most horrible mom in the world for saying no to my request. So in what I thought was a good idea at the time I wrote my own note and “borrowed” my mom’s signature. I remember for a brief moment feeling so proud of myself because I got to skip PE that day and went to study hall instead. At least I thought that was my destination because after about five minutes in study hall I was called to the Principal’s office and asked to take the telephone. On the other end was-my mom. The Principal told my mom that this was the first time I had done such a thing and that she was willing to let me go without a punishment if my mom would agree. My mom said no and asked for the typical punishment which was 8 hours of detention starting at 6:30 am on Saturday. At the time I thought my mom was a horrible person for not listening to the Principal and subjecting me to such punishment. Fast forward 5 years. My mom warned me about drinking but one night I ignored her and woke up the next day feeling like death would be a better form of punishment. I did not get an “I told you so” from my mom. Instead she took me out to breakfast of pancakes, eggs, greasy bacon and every non night after drinking too much food she could order for me and told me that I had to eat everything even though my head felt like it was going to explode and my stomach was punishing me from the night before. Again I thought my mom was horrible for doing that to me.
Fast forward over 20 years to this morning. I have become my mother. My child started kindergarten last week. Although they love kindergarten it is a 7 hour long school day which has been very hard to adjust to. This morning as my child was bouncing around the house smiling and laughing and having fun they asked me what I was going to do today and wondered when I would be at their school. I answered not today and then I noticed an immediate change of mood. My bouncing child all of a sudden had a headache, stomach ache, their eye hurt, their nose hurt, pretty much every appendage hurt and they did not want to go to school. The long diatribe of aches and pains continued as I was walking them to the bus stop and my child continued crying through the neighborhood “mommy you are so mean, I do not want to go to school.” I stayed firm and reassured them that they love school; it was going to be a fun day keeping in mind that my child loves school and the diatribe was designed to result in their goal of staying home. As the crying continued at the bus stop my heart started to hurt. My child was going to school feeling like I did twenty years ago in the Principal’s office and sitting at the breakfast table that day. She was going to think as I did all of those years ago I was the meanest mommy in the world all day long and even though I knew what I did in being firm and making them go to school my heart hurt. After I strongly and firmly with a commanding tone put my child on the bus this morning I walked home from the bus stop in tears even though I knew what I did was right. So all of these years later I now know that it must have hurt my mom’s heart to have me in detention or eat those foods the next day but she was doing that for my own good not hers. I never “borrowed” my mom’s signature after that and I never drank that much again. My mom passed away fourteen years ago and honestly I never thanked her for all of the life lessons she taught me. My mom was my best friend but she also always tried to teach me right from wrong. Today when I made my child go to school it was hard, I would have loved a day at home with them but I had to teach them a lesson. As my mom always did that lesson was a hard one in my child’s eyes but maybe someday they will look back when they are a parent and understand like I did today.
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