The Roles Our Parents Play

I have devoted my life to being the best Mama & Mommy that I can be. I am fully aware that at times I should just be satisfied with the job that I do, for I know that I am good at it. But, alas. I always find myself looking back at situations and beating myself up about how I could have done even BETTER. I stress that one "I Love You" wasn't enough for that moment, or that my hug wasn't tight enough, or that I didn't take enough time to explain something.

Now, as most of you know... I am ridiculous. ((LOL)) Of this, I am aware. I over analyze, I over achieve, I over assume, and I over compensate. I look at my three babies, and I see a sky full of stars. I see a World of wonder and of opportunity for them. I see a life time of Love and of Achievement. I see endless possibilities.

I am not like most Mom's. I do not have expectations for who they will be, and I have not pre-planned who I want them to be in this life. Now...don't get me wrong. I am in no way saying that I don't know their potential, or that I do not have the utmost belief that they will succeed in life. I do, with every ounce of my being. But, I have not planned out their choice of schooling, or their career. Parents that set the bar based upon the goals that they themselves didnt not reach, are only placing limitations on their young ones. What if your son doesn't want to be a doctor? What if he wants to play guitar in a band? What if your daughter doesn't want to be a lawyer? What if she would rather adventure to Africa and help feed the children? WOuld you really look down on them for their choices, simply because they are crushing YOUR dreams? For this reason, I keep their canvas blank. I want to be the one that gives them the paint and the brush, and I want to see what masterpiece THEY can create with the tools that the World and I afford them. My greatest, and only, dream for them is that they are happy, healthy, and full of love. Whatever path they need walk down to get them there, I will be close by....watching....waiting....ready with catching and supportive arms should they stumble.

I am not like most Mom's. Of this, I am aware. Some of you may have read my philisophy and determined that I am unfocused and have already limited my children's growth by not having "standards". Well, let me explain. I believe we all learn a great deal from our own childhoods. And that we use those experiences to mold the type of parents we are. We can do one of three things::: (1) We can make the same mistakes our parents made (2) We will choose not to have children at all (3) We will use the mistakes and experiences we witnessed, and vow to do everything within our power to not give history the power to repeat itself.

I grew up, like most children, the product of divorce. I have a Weekend Warrior Father, and a Full Time Mom. My Father would frequent his adventures into parenting less often than the Judge allowed, choosing to come at 6pm on his Friday's seemed more like chore than a privelege. I used to imagine him standing before a dart board, and throwing with his eyes closed, haphazardly the dart would land in a selection that would determine our fate for the weekend. On the weekends when his car DID pull into the driveway, my sister and I would reach down and grab our weekend-bag (full of clothes, under clothes, stuffed animal, and an occassional VHS...because God knows he had nothing at his house for us.) We would arrive at his "house" and the party began. We were left to fend for ourselves amongst empty cabinets and refridgerator. (Hence my horrible eating habits, of which I am STILL fighting to overcome to this day). An occassional box of mac n' cheese or bologna sandwich was a treat amid the bags of potato chips, slim jims, and bottles of soda. My dad would drop us off at the house, and off to "work" he would go. We would watch movies on the matching futons in the living room, waiting for him to come back home. By 4:30am he usually came back through the door. We would sleep all day and repeat until the weekend was over. And like most children who have an addict for a parent, we kept his dirty little secret, scared that if  we ever told anyone how bad things were there....he would disappear from our lives completely.

Then---- back home to Mom we would go. Back to routine, rules, limitations, bed times, baths, and homework.  We hated going home. My Mom was safe, and reliable. She was the constant in our lives. She had remarried and made a family for us. Yet, had you given me the choice back then....I woud've chosen my father. The one who was never home, never cared, and never invested any time or energy into my life. He wouldn't have known my favorite color, or the boy I had a crush on, he wouldn't have known that I like my eggs sunny side up, or that I liked it when my hair was braided before bed because it would have a pretty wave in it for school the next day. My Mom knew these things. Yet, it was his attention and his presense that I so craved.

My Mother, Dad (Step-Father) and I, had many problems as a side effect of my Father. It wasn't until many years later (recently in fact) that I was able to deal with the emotional aftermath of realizing that I was the child of an addict. I remember vividly opening the fridge on more than one occassion and having nothing in the house except a bottle of vodka in the freezer. I can recall a day in my life so clearly, that I can replay it in my mind. I remember standing in the doorway to his bedroom, and watching him toss and turn so violently....I was scared. I remember the TV being on, but only static could be seen. I remember we had just watched 'Poltergiest' for the first time and it made me nervous to see the screen sparkle in the black and white dots that played. I whispered, "Daddy?" and he told me to leave the room, that he was very sick. I saw that the blankets were soaked with his sweat, and he was almost green in color. I put my sister to bed by myself that night, and I went back upstairs to sit in the living room. I was scared he was dying. I listened to him moan and yell and punch the walls all night. It wasn't until I was much older that I realized he was going through withdrawls that night. And yet, that is the man who's attention I craved so badly.

I can't tell you a time when I ever saw a drink in my Mom's hand. I don't think I ever did. I can remember a time when I was little and we had taken a family trip to Myrtle Beach, and she had gotten so sun bruned that my (Step)Dad put frozen strawberry daquiri mix into lunch baggies to lay across her back. ((LOL)) But, I never ONCE saw either of them pick up a drink in front of me or my siblings. I CAN tell you that she never missed a class trip and she was always the first one on the chaperone list. I CAN tell you that she was at every doctor's appointment. I CAN tell you that I always had clean clothes, healthy meals, and the comfort of knowing someone would be home with us. I CAN tell you......that I took it for granted. I CAN tell you..... that as a child, I didn't appreciate it. I CAN tell you that she went above and beyond to make up for the lack of parenting that my Father contributed, and not once as a child did I thank her. I can tell you that we had HORRENDOUS repricussions due to the childhood I had. My Mother and I didn;t speak for many years, after a LARGE falling out. I can tell you that my Father robbed me of a relationship with my Mother that resembled anything close to normal. I can tell you that like all addicts and alcoholics, my Father filled our heads with stories and lies that wedged a gap in between my Mother and I that was so large, it took having my own children to bring me back to her. I can tell you, that My Mom is the single most amazing person in my life. And I can tell you, that I work hard EVERY single day to make her proud.

I still have a hard time expressing my love and my emotions for my Mom, without being reduced to a ball of tears. I feel ugly and embarrassed for the years I lost with her because of my Father. I know that she and I have years of mending ahead of us, but I am SO proud of how far we have come in such a short amount of time. My Mom is my Mom, but she is also a dear and cherished friend.

I look at my childhood, and if I can look into my children's future this is what I hope:::: I hope that no matter what goes on, or what events are out of my hands, I hope they are happy, healthy and loved. I hope they can look back and say that I never missed a field trip and that I know how they like their eggs. I hope they can say I was at every doctor's appointment. I hope they can say I hugged them too much, and that I said "I Love You" too often. I hope that I know how to stay close, but to give them room to fall so that they can learn to pick themselves back up. I hope I can let them shine, and be warmed by their light. I hope I can do it all, but most of all....I hope I make THEM proud.