viragette

This is my mother. I stole those earrings when I was in 16 and lost one of them.

Dear mom,

I’m sorry I stole your earrings. And not just that pair. I’m sorry I asked that you not walk with me to my bus stop before school because no one else’s mom did and I was therefore ashamed to wait with you. I’m sorry that I didn’t like the perfectly adorable haircuts you gave me. I made you take me to a Salon for my 9th birthday and they chopped off all my hair in some 80’s punk style that was tragically ugly for 3 years before it grew out again - and then I resented you for it. I’m sorry about that time that I rearranged the whole house and when you came home early and I wasn’t finished yet, I wouldn’t let you in. I’m sorry I stole the car before I could legally drive and went to Denny’s. I guess it’s good that I called you and told you I had done this, but I pretty much negated that by refusing to come home until I was finished.

You were my solace for so many years. I remember thinking, “whatever happens, I’ll be alright - because I’ve got mom”. I remember watching you chop wood in the backyard in your big, plaid wool coat. Or weeding the strawberry patch in the summer in that kick-ass white bikini, trying to get a tan in the weak Seattle sunlight. I remember that time when I tricked you into looking the other way at the table by saying: “Hey, isn’t that [the really cute construction guy] next door?” I didn’t realize how well it would work because I was only 12, but I think you kinked your neck. You couldn’t always keep a straight face when the Bug and I got into trouble, especially if he made a face - and we’d all end up laughing together. I remember you driving me to football games in my marching band uniform. You’d drive really slow and nod your head in tune with the R&B station.

I’m sorry I couldn’t always appreciate how much those good times were made possible by your struggle and sacrifice. Most of all, I’m sorry that in my heart I’ve sometimes held you to such an unfair and unrealistic standard. I’m not saying you aren’t perfect. I’m just saying that I have no reason to expect you to be. Sometimes it seems as if everyone believes in this myth of the “perfect mother”, and no woman can be good enough. It’s not fair to anyone, least of all to mothers and children. We had hard times when I saw you nearly crumble under the weight of so many burdens. And then I watched as you raised yourself up - and us with you - and rocked on with your bad self. You are so much better than perfect, mom. Thanks for being you.