Mothers and daughters…
There is an interesting dynamic between mothers and their grown daughters, or maybe it’s the other way around. The push and pull of establishing yourself as a grownup in your parents’ eyes and that never-ending need for parental (emotional) support can make for many misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and emotional and physical distance. I think that as a grown child of relatively young parents, your relationship can go either way. It can go the “We can talk about anything, we are both adults” route or the “How is the weather where you are, and your health” route. Unfortunately, regardless of your age, your parents are part of the small group of people that can really push your buttons (this group also includes siblings, spouses/significant others, and the arch nemesis from your youth). Yes, I will admit, I can be overly sensitive to things that are packaged as “harmless comments” and observations, but in my heart I know/think that they were set up to sting or possibly just take me down a peg (from my two pegs above the floor).
So this week my mom came to visit me in Shanghai. I am about to caveat my story by saying I am extremely close with my mom, yadda yadda yadda, I can tell her anything, etc., but we are very different people. And sometimes I believe that her feedback can be that of a judgmental neighbor that looks through her blinds wondering why you painted your house that color, and that your kids are undisciplined, than the woman that actually birthed me and is actually supposed to help build my self-esteem. There is an episode of Modern Family from the first season when Claire and Mitchell’s mother comes to visit and Claire says, “You know that voice in your head that tells you that you’re not good enough? Well, that voice was sitting next to me driving me to school every day” (something to that effect). Don’t get me wrong. My mom is not “critical” as much as doubtful…doubtful that I know what I am talking about, doubtful that I know where I am going, doubtful that I was right and she was wrong, doubtful that it was as bad as I said it was…doubtful that anyone else wants to read my long blog posts.
So some examples from her stay here in Shanghai:
Mom’s question: “How do you read Chinese characters? “
My answer: “I think they’re read from left to right.”
Her response: “I don’t think they’re read from left to right…”
So after doing her research: “So originally it was read from…”
My response: “How is it read now?”
Mom’s response: “Well, the government made it mandatory in…”
My response: “So is this your long way of telling me I am right?”
In this conversation, I don’t even know what the question was, but basically I said that Jesus was Jewish.
Mom’s answer: “Jesus wasn’t Jewish…”
So after doing some research…I think we all know the answer to this…
I think my favorite Mom moment was looking at a picture she took of me at a painting workshop I planned for us, and saying to her: “Ugh, I look old in this picture.”
Her response: “That is how we look in pictures.”
That is how “we” look in pictures, and then she added “pictures don’t lie.” The funny thing about it was that it wasn’t said in a malicious way, but rather a “this is just the way it is” way.
Oh yeah, and she would rather make collages than to paint, and we should have gone to Moganshan Lu before the painting class for inspiration rather than after…
I know on the other side of the world my mother is writing a blog titled: “That uptight bitch I stayed with for the last week: the story of a mother’s patience and hope that her daughter is not a lesbian.”
