The Anti-Mother's Day

In my previous rambles about Mother’s Day I’ve talked about how this is one of the most difficult days on the calendar for me. Because I’ve assiduously avoided it as much as humanly possible for the past three years, I’ve come across many others who do so as well, but for very different reasons. Here are two of their stories. I know both of these families, and can attest to the truth of this version of history.

There is a daughter, an only child whose parents divorced when she was very young. As was the standard back then, she lived with her mother after the parents split. Unfortunately for the girl, she was the spitting image of her father, the hated ex-husband, right down to his barrel chested physique with a tendency to be rotund.

By the time she was in school, it was obvious she was going to have a battle with weight throughout her life. Her mother was round as well, but in a womanly and to most, an attractive way. In other words, the genetic cards were stacked against the daughter.

The mother worked in an office, and though she neither aspired to nor was qualified for a position beyond that of a secretary, dressing well and being properly groomed were of paramount importance to this woman. She never left the house without her hair done, her make up just so, and fashionable, conservative and expensive clothes. And jewelry.

It takes money to dress right and be so well groomed. So, it was easier to just dress her daughter in whatever she could. Since this little girl wasn’t so little, it was cheapest to buy her boys jeans, of course in husky sizes, and solid color t-shirts, the kind that could be purchased on sale at K-Mart or a thrift store.

Perhaps it’s not surprising that this girl had no self-esteem, and to this day doesn’t bother to care for or groom herself. She was taught early, often and consistently that the nicest clothes, stylish hair and makeup wouldn’t make up for the fact that she was just fat. Morbidly obese. Literally too large to fit in an airplane seat, even twenty years ago when those seats were wider than they are today.

But her true unattractiveness was in her personality, one she was told was identical to her father’s, a man she was not allowed much contact with growing up so she can only take her mother’s word for it. Sadly, her father passed away when she was in her late teens of illnesses and complications related to his weight.

When Mother’s Day rolls around the daughter sends a card, because she is a better person than her mother ever was. But, she does not and will not call or spend one moment of her life with the woman who bore her.

There is another daughter who was told from her earliest days that she was not actually bad, she couldn’t help it when she didn’t meet the behavioral expectations of her mother. She was simply different from everyone else. She had a lot of energy, was very emotional and prone to cry over absolutely nothing at all.

She didn’t get in trouble in school, and was in fact a straight-A honor student. But, she was constantly told how she didn’t really deserve credit for that because she was just naturally smart, evidenced by the fact that she never had to study. The virtue was her mother’s and her brother’s, because while they both also had received very good grades, they earned them with hard work.

In direct contrast to the above story, this daughter was slim throughout her childhood while her brother took after the parents, both of whom wore husky clothes as children and as adults. Still, this slimness was no credit to the daughter, because her physique was the result of a lifetime in sports. Her success in that area was not something for which she could take credit for either, as she was simply born with athleticism and grace.

The five days a week spent going to classes and workouts, winning innumerable awards, trophies and ribbons were likewise credited to an in-born trait and not hard work or dedication. In fact, the true acknowledgement for dedication belonged rightfully to the mother, as she is the one who transported the girl to those classes and workouts.

Each Mother’s Day since this girl and her brother reached their late teens, the daughter spent weeks thinking about just the thing to get or do to make the day special. Invariably, a week or so before the day, either she would contact the brother to ask if he had made any plans to see their mother, or the brother would call her, asking what she was planning on giving their mother.

At his yearly “well, I don’t know what to get her”, the daughter would offer to let him go in with her on what she had already purchased or was planning on getting. Sometimes, the brother even gave her his half of the money. Her brother was invariably profusely thanked for his thoughtfulness. “I know you were part of it too” was the aside tossed off to the daughter.

A few years ago, the daughter realized that no matter what she did she would never be able to earn, or bribe, her way into her mother’s good graces. She would never be good enough, never be credited, recognized or even acknowledged for her accomplishments. Anything bad that happened was her fault, well perhaps not really her fault as she was just born that way, just different. Regardless, whatever happened was a direct result of her actions, decisions and choices and therefore deserved.

Getting bullied in school? What did you do to make those kids not like you? A divorce? Your choice of husband. So, this year as for the past two, she didn’t do anything for Mother’s Day. Now, neither the brother nor the mother speaks to the daughter.

Both of these now adult daughters say the time is soon coming when the mothers will no longer be able to care for themselves. Already, in the second case, the mother really should be living in some sort of assisted care community already, as her mental and physical health are tenuous at best. The mother from the first case has had to install a stair lift in order to navigate to her second floor bedroom and the only bath in the house.

In both mother’s cases, money is not an issue. While neither could be called rich, they are both comfortable. Neither needs financial support from their children to pay for living expenses, or even the vacations and shopping sprees in which they both regularly engage. Their mortgages are paid and they have more than adequate insurance, including long term care for when that necessity forces a change in their addresses. That is when both of the daughters fear their lives are going to take a decidedly unpleasant turn.

Many years ago, my own mother worked with senior citizens. I very clearly remember her saying “Old people don’t get mean, mean people get old”; and “when you see an old man or woman languishing in a nursing home and their children refuse to visit, don’t feel too sorry for them. You have no idea what kind of parent they were, and they may simply be reaping what they have sown”.

Telling these two daughters this is little comfort. Already, they are both receiving guilt trips from other family members, some distant, others not so much in addition to comments from well-meaning strangers. Some of it is designed to be helpful, some is just spiteful. In both cases, there are friends and family friends who have heard for decades what a rotten kid the daughter really is and what a saint the mother was for having put up with and tried, really tried, from the mother.

“She’s old and needs help”. “She took care of you when you were a helpless baby”. “It’s not like she beat you or abandoned you on the side of the road”.

The moral of the story is that not all mothers are deserving of the care and consideration our societal myths assign to all on Mother’s Day. Before you judge someone for not contacting or spending time with their mother; before you judge those now adult children as neglectful or merely selfish, think on these two stories. She may seem like a sweet old lady, but you have no idea what kind of mothering she inflicted on her children.

Remember “Mommy Dearest”, the shocking story of Joan Crawford. Remember Olivia Soprano’s famous line “I gave my children my life on a silver plate”. And remember no matter what you think you know, you are only hearing one half of the story. And if the mother is a Borderline Personality, as the above two examples most certainly are, the half you are hearing is at best a myth, at least a self-serving lie.

To both of the daughters in this story, I’m sorry. For what you grew up with and for the pressures placed on you by too many others. And I thank you for allowing me to share your stories. I promise you, there will be many who see themselves in these lines. Who knows, maybe some mother will see herself and try to make amends.