Mother

Character Blog

November 2015

Do I tell my mum everything? No. Should I tell my mum everything? Probably not. Would she like me to tell her everything? She tells me that she wants me too.

In a relationship built on the mixture of secrets, the occasional lying, and unconditional love, its hard to understand the complexity behind the the relationship between a boy and his mother.

Growing up I was naive as every other young teenager, wondering why my mum cared so much as to what I was doing and where I was going every time I left the bloody house. “Make sure you call me when you get there,” was her automatic message once I stepped out that door. It used to make me so annoyed for some reason and half the time I would forget to txt her, both legitimately and out of a little bit of spite. A little cruel, I know.

A few years ago my mum told me a story, and ever since she told me, it has defined who my mum is as a person, to me.

When I was born in England in September 1992, my parents didn’t want to raise me in London where I was born. Instead, the three of us would quickly move to Copenhagen, Denmark. We would spend two years in Denmark before finally moving to the coastal city of Tauranga in New Zealand where my dad had got a job.

At his point of my in my life, my basic understanding of language was Danish. I spoke and began to structure sentences in Danish. I soon became aware that we were living in another country and I would slowly start saying english words, however every night, my mum would continue to read stories to me in Danish.

She told me night after night she would lay with me on the small wooden bunk bed and read the danish books that she had brought over. We were happy in New Zealand but she always had in the back of her mind they we wouldn’t be here long and back in Denmark. After six months, we were still in New Zealand.

She tells me that one night, she climbed up into my bunk bed and as she pulled open the book, I turned to her and said in Danish, “Can you read to me English.”

I have no clear memory of this happening, but she tells me that she nearly started tearing up. I think my mum had it in her head that I would be raised primarily in Denmark and she was to stubborn to teach me English incase I started to forget Danish before we eventually moved back.

The next night she climbed up into my bunk bed and pulled open, in English, the Hungry Hungry Caterpillar.

We never did move back to Denmark. Besides from the occasional visit, we spent the next 18 years in New Zealand and with that, I completely forgot the Danish language as I became more surrounded with English.

From the time I was born, my mum has only want one thing, and that is what is best for me. That story highlighted this fact and has always reminded me that what ever she has done for me, has always been to encourage and help me along the way. Growing up, I tended to forget that, especially as teenager when I misinterpreted her care for being to nosey or overbearing.

I hope that one day I can be a parent and give someone else the care and encouragement that my mum has always given me.