It is strange how heavy an impact a parent's words and actions has on a child. It is also strange how a parent can be oblivious to this fact. Depending on the kind of parent you are and the example you set, your child can do one of two things (in my limited and unprofessional opinion): 1. She can model herself after you, or 2. She could decide to be the exact opposite of you. At the age of 16, I decided to enroll into group number two.
I always saw my mother as this weak, pathetic little woman, unable to protect herself or her children against the verbal onslaughts of her husband. I can even remember the exact moment I decided she was not worthy of being my role model: I had just had my heart ripped out of my chest and stamped on for the umpteenth time, insulted, hurt, and with eyes swollen from crying, and I was sitting at the diningroom table waiting for supper to be served. My mother brought my plate and placed it in front of me. Then she gave me a tiny smile and took her seat next to my father, far away from me. That was the moment I decided: "I will never be like you." For me, she was the classic "What Not to Do" manual, the worst example that a mother could ever set for her teenaged daughter. Motherhood is supposed to make you strong, not weak!
Unfortunately, it is also true that in order to vaccinate yourself against an illness, you need to take some of that virus and inject it into your own bloodstream. Thus, I took what I hated most, my father, and made it a part of me. Good thing: I could protect myself against his verbal onslaught and sling some of my own at him. Bad thing: I have now become the very person I hated the most. Strange, isn't it?
So, many years passed, with my father and I having the occassional tug of war, my mother nervously (and silently) wrenching her hands in the background somewhere and brother dearest falling in and out of drugs (a huge problem in Cape Town, especially among young people. The drug of choice among them is crystal methanephetamin, also known as "tik"). One Saturday morning, as my mother and I were having one of our (very rare) bonding sessions, talking and drinking coffee, the subject of my upbringing came up.
She apologised for having clipped my wings the way she did, asked me to understand that she only did it because it was her way of protecting but admitted that it went too far and for too long. Then made a strange request: "Spread your wings and fly. Things might go wrong. You might have to come back if they do, but your room has a return resident. It will never go to anyone else. It will always be there waiting for you should ever need to come back to it to lick your wounds." And in letting go, I believe, she became a woman worthy to be called mother...and I am honoured to call her so!
So for those of you who wondered how it came about that I suddenly got bitten by the travel bug, now you know and it is to her that I dedicate this blogpost. Thanks Mommy! :)
