When I am at a red light, I touch the pads of my fingers together. It is an instinct. I don’t think about it, but at some point I always notice it. When I do, I can’t help but smile. My mother did that same thing back when I was her passenger in a car.
So many similarities link mother to daughter. Not explicitly taught, just passed on. I often forget the rolls are in the oven. They burn. Sometimes they flame. Like hers.
There is a thread that connects us. Mothers and daughters. One generation to another. Don’t you agree?
Afterall, the apple doesn’t fall from the tree.
Except sometimes it does.
I think about mothers who have sat in my office after an unexpected medical or educational diagnosis. There is a certain pain in their glassy eyes that is so recognizable. It is a blend of fear, disbelief and unconditional love. The ground has shifted. The well-worn path of her life will not be the same path travelled by her child.
You can take a minute to be grateful that you have never sat in that chair and faced that moment.
Or you can think of it differently. It is a gift. Her child will forge a path that does not resemble anything she has known. It will require her patience, perseverance and trust. The same qualities we all need for nurturing healthy children through their lives, but sometimes neglect in the sameness of our experiences.
Believe me, I know. Both of my daughters, no matter how much of me you see in them, have life experiences vastly different than mine. Sure they will inherit the best (and the worst) of me, but each of them started life very differently than I did. I cannot reach back into my experience to understand theirs. As an adopted child, Ella has ties to people she has never met and untold emotions that lurk beneath the surface. As a surviving twin, Grace carries a different burden still.
The three of us do not move through our days identifying ourselves in these ways, but it is a gift to know there are forces in their lives I cannot control and cannot understand. By the circumstances of their births, they will be their own women …as well they should be.
All parenting eventually addresses the question: how do we accept our children for who they are? Andrew Soloman explored this concept in his book, Far From The Tree, which I highly recommend for every teacher and parent. If the 962 pages seem daunting, at least take time to watch the documentary of the same name. It will impact your parenting. It will affect the way you see differences among us. It will change you.
While it focuses on families whose children have exceptionalities, its theme is far more universal. It addresses the prejudices and unintentional biases with which we begin a family. It also allows us to see ways in which we can cope with the differences among us all by starting with acceptance of those who we already love unconditionally: our children.
Instinctively, my mother knew exactly what I needed to smooth so many rough spots or to lovingly send me off for the toughest uphill climbs. All the while she let me be my own person.
I embrace the idea that my daughters will be very different from me. I do not want for them to grow up in the shadow of their mother’s tree although I have a sneaking suspicion that both will forget the rolls in the oven at some point.
