When people see my father and I together, they usually say, “Oh! You two are so alike!” This pisses my mother off to no end. She doesn’t like to be set apart. But, really, can you guess by looking at the picture above which is my mother? We have a brunette, a green alligator and a blond. Sometimes, I’m as similar to the green alligator as I am to my mother.
- I am a curly haired brunette. My mother is a blond with straight hair.
- I like to do things carefully and slowly. My mother likes to do things fast.
- I like to be still and sit. My mother likes to move.
- I like a peaceful, quiet environment. My mother likes bright light.
- I like sweet things. My mother lives and dies for vegetables.
- I like the safe and familiar. My mother likes challenge and change.
- I like riding my bike. My mother likes riding horses.
These are just a few differences off the top of my head. It’s much more difficult to come up with our similarities…
- We both like to read.
- We both love God.
I think that’s about it.
When I was little, I used to long for a mother along the lines of Opee’s Aunt Bea. You know: a large bosom, an apron, cookies from the oven, a comforting word.
That is not my mother. She’s always been trim, the food that came from her kitchen was more likely ratatouille than anything else, and her comforting words consisted of, “If it’s hard, it’s good for you.”
While these were difficult things for me to accept, I think they’ve been good for me. I’ll never have a passion for vegetables. Ever. But the life lessons? The passion for books, and God, and learning to be strong? Those things are invaluable to me.
Maybe it’s a good thing we can’t pick our mothers. Maybe we’re supposed to learn from, and appreciate, the ones we have.