Day 336 - A Letter for My Mama
Mamas and Papas are tough stuff.
It doesn't matter how much you grow up before you have children - or don't - parenting has a way of exposing all of your flaws more than you ever imagined. Not only that, but the questions. The questions of "why did you do it this way?" and "why didn't you do it that way?" Questions from innocent, but also not so innocent children. Questions from children who are parents themselves and still trying to grow up.
That child-parent is me.
I know I've been pretty poke-y towards my mama in my recent writings. There are some aggravations that I feel toward myself, some frustrations that I have in sorting out life - still - and it's hard to understand myself without literal or implied pointy fingers. And lately, I seem to have ten pointy fingers, pointing out these Roman characters to form uncomfortable words and sentences and sharp thoughts and sometimes accusing posts.
I've always loved that word.
Despite the fact that, for some reason, my dad had ill associations with the Mennonite preferences for "Mama" and "Papa" to the point that he rejected all names of offspring affection, I have always felt comforted just by saying the word "Mama."
Did you know, by the way that as all human children of the world develop language, they almost always form bilabial phonemes first? Such as ma, ba, pa...and those are quickly followed by dental stops like tuh, duh. Is it any wonder that in so many languages, the words for the mama and the papa are sounds that form in those early stages? And really, dads, don't feel so bad that the mamas get named by the first sounds. She carries the baby and probably does 75% of the baby care in those first 24 months, from nursing to changing diapers to getting up in the night. All the babies love you too, da-das.
This chart is for the English language, of course, but it's an example of sound development and how our arbitrary word choices are formed.
Mammy, Mommy, Mom, - a brief ugly awkward trial of Jeannette (influenced by my dad because evidently terms of affection didn't extend from him any more than he received them), then somewhere in my early adulthood, Mama....especially when I was feeling particularly needy.
As a person, sure, my mama has a lot of flaws. And as a separate person, I am sometimes stuck in my own flaws, and deep annoyance with her flaws. But as a mama, she's no better and no worse than every wonderful, floundering mama before her or even the women she brought into life to be wonderful floundering mamas after her.
So this post is a letter to my mama.
Because while writing a memoir can be a bit touchy for all the things we do to hurt one another, I love her. She's my mama.
It doesn't matter how much you grow up before you have children - or don't - parenting has a way of exposing all of your flaws more than you ever imagined. Not only that, but the questions. The questions of "why did you do it this way?" and "why didn't you do it that way?" Questions from innocent, but also not so innocent children. Questions from children who are parents themselves and still trying to grow up.
That child-parent is me.
I know I've been pretty poke-y towards my mama in my recent writings. There are some aggravations that I feel toward myself, some frustrations that I have in sorting out life - still - and it's hard to understand myself without literal or implied pointy fingers. And lately, I seem to have ten pointy fingers, pointing out these Roman characters to form uncomfortable words and sentences and sharp thoughts and sometimes accusing posts.
Mama.
I've always loved that word.
Despite the fact that, for some reason, my dad had ill associations with the Mennonite preferences for "Mama" and "Papa" to the point that he rejected all names of offspring affection, I have always felt comforted just by saying the word "Mama."
Did you know, by the way that as all human children of the world develop language, they almost always form bilabial phonemes first? Such as ma, ba, pa...and those are quickly followed by dental stops like tuh, duh. Is it any wonder that in so many languages, the words for the mama and the papa are sounds that form in those early stages? And really, dads, don't feel so bad that the mamas get named by the first sounds. She carries the baby and probably does 75% of the baby care in those first 24 months, from nursing to changing diapers to getting up in the night. All the babies love you too, da-das.This chart is for the English language, of course, but it's an example of sound development and how our arbitrary word choices are formed.
Mammy, Mommy, Mom, - a brief ugly awkward trial of Jeannette (influenced by my dad because evidently terms of affection didn't extend from him any more than he received them), then somewhere in my early adulthood, Mama....especially when I was feeling particularly needy.
As a person, sure, my mama has a lot of flaws. And as a separate person, I am sometimes stuck in my own flaws, and deep annoyance with her flaws. But as a mama, she's no better and no worse than every wonderful, floundering mama before her or even the women she brought into life to be wonderful floundering mamas after her.
So this post is a letter to my mama.
Because while writing a memoir can be a bit touchy for all the things we do to hurt one another, I love her. She's my mama.
* * * * *
Mama...
Thank you.
Thank you for being brave to love me
even when your arms were full of wanting and empty of my brother.
Thank you for being foolish enough to trust me
as your daughter and eventually your friend,
with your tears and your laughter,
your hopes and your dreams,
your failures and your successes.
Thank you for still changing,
and also not changing.
Thank you for helping me to remember how frail we all are
and also how possible too.
I have done so many things because of you.
I have fought and survived because of you.
I have lived and died because of you.
And I have loved wildly because of you.
I look in the mirror sometimes,
or my children take a horrible picture of me
and I yelp to realize that horror of horrors:
I LOOK LIKE MY MOTHER.
(I almost added the pic to which I am referring, but I shuddered. I just couldn't do it.)
I hear my own parent belting and yawping and I know:
I SOUND LIKE MY MOTHER.
But then, I also hear the strengths that others attribute to me...
Creative.
Resilient.
Smart.
Adaptable.
Vulnerable.
Brave.
Strong.
Daring.
Independent
Capable.
Fun.
Outgoing.
Delightful.
And my favorite, Storyteller.
And I know for sure:
I AM JUST LIKE MY MOTHER.
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| Notice...I'm wearing her clothes, the same skirt and blouse that she is wearing in the first picture. |
Thank goodness.
