As I’m sure
you can imagine, I don’t get out much. For the most part I can be found in 1 of
4 places: the house where I live, the
school where I teach, Shoprite, and the liquor store. But
last night, I went to a party! A real
party. I showered and shaved my legs and
wore a dress and high heel shoes and put on makeup and jewelry! I forgot I HAD jewelry. I even tried to blow dry my hair but my
corpse of a hair dryer wouldn’t turn on.
I think it died of loneliness. I can’t believe some women do this all the
time: it’s exhausting looking presentable, which is why I never do it. And I had fun! Lots of fun!
I ate delicious food and drank way too much of something red with cranberries
floating in it and talked to people I never get to talk to. One of the ladies, Tara, is someone I grew up
with. Her name isn’t really Tara but she
wouldn’t want me using her name in this blog and I’ve always thought she kinda
looks like a Tara. I would describe us
as friendly acquaintances. She’s one
year older than me, we didn’t go to the same high school, and though our
daughters are the same age, they don’t participate in the same activities, so I
never had occasion to get to know her. Well last night, thankfully before I’d
had too much of the red stuff, Tara pulled me aside to say how much she likes
this blog and ask my opinion about something.
Tara: I think I’m a bad mother.
Me: What!!!!!Why??!!!
Tara: Tinkerbelle wants to try out for the
cheerleading squad but she can’t dance, at all.
The girl has 2 left feet and no balance so I told her maybe she should
consider something else like the play because she has a beautiful singing
voice.
Obviously Tara’s
daughter is not named Tinkerbelle, I’m just calling her that because she’s
adorable.
Me: And this makes you a bad mother?
Tara: Well I mentioned this to a bunch of women at
soccer practice last night and one of them said, “Why are you discouraging your
daughter like that? You can’t tell your
child she’s a bad dancer it will hurt her feelings. ”
Me: Why are you telling me this?
Tara: I wanted to know if you think she’s right.
Dear Tara,
Though we
talked about this at length last night, I need to expand upon what I said. Nowadays newspapers and magazines are
littered with articles criticizing the “Millennials” for being a bunch of whining crybabies
who can’t handle pressure or criticism of any kind. Why? Because
their parents have sheltered them from all disappointment, raised them to be
utterly dependent and convinced them they’re the best…at everything. Sadly,
our generation seems to be following in these same, detrimental footsteps. Everything needs to be fair, no one’s
feelings can ever get hurt and everyone should get an award, even if they
haven’t earned it. Here’s a perfect
example:
When Dana
was in kindergarten she won the swim races at camp and therefore received the
Fastest Swimmer award. When she was in
first grade she won the races and the award again. Then came second grade. A new girl joined camp and like Dana, she was
an excellent swimmer. Faced with the
possibility of losing the swim races, Dana took it upon herself to swim the
length of my lake every day after camp for 3 weeks to prepare: I was so proud of her. The day of the races I was so nervous
watching Dana swim I thought I would faint, but she won. I’d never seen her so happy, I’d never felt
so proud and neither one of us could wait for the awards ceremony. When her camp counselor stood up to present
the awards I thought we would both explode with anticipation, and The Title of
Fastest Swimmer went to
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>the
other girl. Even sitting here typing I
can taste the bile that rose in my throat watching that girl walk up to receive
the award my daughter had worked so hard to earn. Worse than that, I remember the look on Dana’s
face when she turned to me in the stands and mouthed the word, ”Why?” After the ceremony, although it was
difficult, I kept my composure when I questioned the camp director as to why
they gave Dana’s award to the girl she defeated. Her response?
“We can’t give the award to the same girl
three years in a row.”
“Why?”
“Parents
would complain.”
“OK. But if you’re not going to give the girl who
wins the swim races the Fastest Swimmer award, why have swim races?”
To this she
had no response, so I stormed out and bought Dana ice cream in a pathetic attempt to console her. As she sat there
with tears and melted ice cream dripping down her arm, Dana looked at me and
asked, “Why Mommy? Why did they give the award to the girl who didn’t win?” And I
told her the truth: “Because my darling,
some mothers really fucking suck.” I didn’t say fuck but I was thinking it.
Tara I said
it last night but I’ll say it again: I think you are an excellent mother and
the crone who criticized you is not. We are not doing our children any favors
by telling them they are great at something they suck at. It is better to encourage them to focus their
energy building upon their strengths.
Because of mothers like the crone, obese teenagers walk the beach
thinking they’re sexy and tone deaf children torture us with solos at the
talent show. I don’t know if you
remember this or not but we played basketball together in grammar school. The first year I tried out for the team I got
cut and it was devastating. You know
what my father said? “If you got cut it’s because all the girls who made the team are better than you. If you want to play basketball get off your ass
and start practicing.” Now I’m sure to
mothers like the crone this sounds like child abuse but guess what: the following year I weighed 15 pounds less
and I made the team.
When her
daughter has a horrible singing voice, the crone says, “Your voice is like
music my dearest why don’t you sing a solo at the talent show?!”
Mothers like
us say, “Dana, I don’t want to hurt your feelings but your singing needs
work. If it’s something you’re
determined to do, and you’re willing to practice, I will get you singing
lessons.”
When her
daughter is obese, the crone says, “Darling your figure is to die for let’s go
buy you a bikini!”
Mothers like
us say, “Honey, you do not look attractive in that bathing suit. You have 2 choices: buy a tasteful one piece or go on a
diet.”
It's hard to tell your children the truth and watch them hurt, which is why so many mothers are unwilling to do it. This is a cruel and difficult life to navigate, and the people who do it
successfully are the ones who were taught to handle disappointment gracefully
starting at a young age. That’s why,
even though it was physically painful, I made Dana congratulate the girl who
took home the Fastest Swimmer award in second grade. That’s why Tinkerbelle is polite and
courteous whereas the crone’s daughter, in MY opinion, is a spoiled brat.
I THINK you
are a nice but I KNOW you are smart which is why I still can’t believe you allowed this woman to question your obviously excellent parenting skills. Good mothers
don’t criticize other mothers at all.
Only crones criticize and offer unwarranted advice, because deep down
they know they’ve taken the easy way out and are trying to validate their
cowardice.
I am very
hard on all three of my children. I make
no excuses for them and whatever they want, I make them earn it. When Dana didn’t get a lead in “Sleeping
Beauty” she was heartbroken and swore she was going to quit. My response?
“You checked off on the form that you would accept any part so you are
going to that read through if I have to drag you there by your hair. Furthermore, you will congratulate the girl
who got the part you wanted. She gave a better audition, plain and simple. You spent 2 hours preparing your
audition. Next year, make it 2 weeks and
then MAYBE I’ll feel sorry for you if you don’t get a lead. Until then, suck it up.”
This is the
way I talk to my kids, even Kevin.
“You’re disabled? That’s a
terrible shame but this world, that you’re going to have to navigate someday,
doesn’t give a shit.” Although he hates
doing it, Kevin CAN cut his own food.
Yesterday he asked me to cut his French toast for him. I said, "No, do it
yourself," and he threw his breakfast all over my floor. When I told him to clean it up he threw his
fork at me so I picked him up, put him outside, and locked the door. He stood
out there screaming and throwing rocks at my house for almost an hour. Every 10 minutes or so I would open the door
and ask, “Are you ready to clean up the mess you made?” He’d scream, “NO!!” and I’d slam the door in
his face. I’m sure the crone will say that was cruel, but after an hour he
came in, cleaned up the mess, and apologized. Then I made him more French toast,
which he cut himself, without argument.
An inferior mother will ask why I didn’t just clean up the mess
myself. My answer? Cleaning the mess would have validated
inexcusable behavior, and that’s not the type of household I run. I’m doing what is necessary to create responsible,
conscientious, hard working adults who are capable of navigating this world
without me. I am a good mother Tara,
just like you.