母亲教给我的东西（1）（2/2）
《穿过爱的时光》作者：杨柳青 2017-01-24 02:12
have a breath mint in my pocket. She taught me to brush my hair before I went next door to play, to wear a pretty nightgown to the sleepover, and to wear a flowered dress to the science fair, because that’s what“others” thought was appropriate. She also taught me to listen more than I talk, which I have always had trouble doing.
From my mother I learned, as a child, to place matching hand towels in the bath room when company visits and to cash in a savings bond if that’s what it takes to feed your guests. I learned that to prevent f***ly feuds, you walked on eggshells all day on Christmas and Thanksgiving, and had the in-laws over for breakfast, the other side of the f***ly over for lunch, and all of your teenagers’ friends over for dessert.
As I grew up, my mother grew wiser. By the time I was an adult, I’d learned that when I was a child, my mother hadn’t said no to other people as often as she should have.
While I’ll always be heartbroken that she became a widow at the young age of forty-six, I’ll always be grateful that I came to know my mother as an independent woman afterward. I watched her shed the stereotypes of a woman raised in the 1950s, and I now relish the fact that sometimes she, too, has ice cream for dinner.
From my mother I learned, as an adult, to give yourself what you want, because no one else may ever do it. I learned to laugh and laugh and laugh, because life is too difficult when you don’t. I learned that if you dislike your in-laws or other f***ly members or anyone else, you don’t have to fake it, because life is too short to put on appearances and to worry about what others might think.
From my mother I learned, as a child, to place matching hand towels in the bath room when company visits and to cash in a savings bond if that’s what it takes to feed your guests. I learned that to prevent f***ly feuds, you walked on eggshells all day on Christmas and Thanksgiving, and had the in-laws over for breakfast, the other side of the f***ly over for lunch, and all of your teenagers’ friends over for dessert.
As I grew up, my mother grew wiser. By the time I was an adult, I’d learned that when I was a child, my mother hadn’t said no to other people as often as she should have.
While I’ll always be heartbroken that she became a widow at the young age of forty-six, I’ll always be grateful that I came to know my mother as an independent woman afterward. I watched her shed the stereotypes of a woman raised in the 1950s, and I now relish the fact that sometimes she, too, has ice cream for dinner.
From my mother I learned, as an adult, to give yourself what you want, because no one else may ever do it. I learned to laugh and laugh and laugh, because life is too difficult when you don’t. I learned that if you dislike your in-laws or other f***ly members or anyone else, you don’t have to fake it, because life is too short to put on appearances and to worry about what others might think.