January 5, 1994: Twenty-six Years Ago Today

I remember January 1994 quite well. Winter had already settled in and it seemed we were getting a new batch of snow every Monday, except for this week. The snow started Tuesday night around 10 pm and buried the car enough that by 2 am Wednesday morning when we had to rush out of the house, we had to call a cab.

I was grateful for that, because I had the taxi meter to help time my contractions. The shitty driving conditions were actually helpful, too; I spent most of my active labor during the 6.6-mile ride in the cab so when I got to the hospital almost an hour and a half later things were well enough underway that by the time I was cowboyed up in the stirrups the ride was over.

Boom! I was a mother.

That was twenty-six years ago. That baby, my daughter, my firstborn, is now 26.

What’s funny is that I was 26 years old when I had her. She is now the same age I was when I became a mother. I am exactly twice her age right now.

All kids seem to think that their parents are old and couldn’t possibly have any idea what (we) they are going through. What kids don’t realize is that being a parent keeps you in touch with being a kid. We go through everything you go through, with you, even if it is indirectly. When we watch you grow we are given a unique view through your reminders of our own childhoods and all of the bullshit that goes along with it – believe me, puberty sucks even more the second time around.

Even with all of the newer technologies and societal changes, there are still many similarities between our childhoods and yours, because people are still people; feelings are still the same.

My daughter was in a serious car accident 3 years ago, and still hasn’t been able to get a handle on her health issues yet. No, honey, I don’t know what that is like, but I do know the feelings of insecurity, worthlessness, and fear of the unknown. I know the feelings of personal disappointment when you look at your life every year and wonder why you aren’t where you ‘should’ be.

If I could ask you to follow one suggestion, it would be to erase the idea that there are any ‘shoulds’ in life. With all of life’s variables, it’s silly to believe that anything ‘should be’  - or even could be – something specific. There is no ladder with assigned rungs; growth of all kinds is extremely personal because experiences are personal.

It is the same with ideas of courage and success. If no one knows how another feels about something, they have no way of knowing how much courage it would take to achieve, be or do anything. Success is also personal, because only we know individually what makes us feel happy and fulfilled.

Look at me. If you had asked me at your age where I thought I’d be at mine, I’m absolutely certain the picture I had of me at age 52 looks nothing like the reality of my being 52.  A big part of that had to do with my failed attempts at following too many ‘shoulds’ and hating myself for not succeeding at them. But how could I have, if they had nothing to do with me?  I can say one thing, though: I am much happier now that I’ve let go of them, even if doing so left me in a position that feels a lot like starting over and fearfully staring into the unknown. (Does that sound even a little familiar?) And I’m twice your age, which means I presumably have less time to get my ass in gear than you do – and for what kind of ‘finish line’? There is no finish line, because all you will be aware of is the constant journey.

We all want our children to live better lives than we’ve had – and by ‘better’ we mean ‘easier’. It is with that thought in mind that I say that I’m glad you don’t have any children of your own just yet. I happen to believe that you will one day make a wonderful mother (and a much more organized one than I am), but I’m glad you have more time to focus on yourself.

Don’t get me wrong: I absolutely adore both my children - my ‘happy accidents’ - and wouldn’t trade my experiences as your mother for anything, but I can tell you that there is much less pressure on you not to fuck up when there is no one around to imitate you, and guilt and self-recriminations are worse when you know that a mistake on your part directly affects someone else.

I do remember being 26, particularly because of you. Scarred me for life, literally and figuratively. You taught me some hard lessons, too. Thank you.

The most fun parents have is in watching their children move from dependency to independence through the new discoveries and realizations that set that journey in motion.

I look at you now, my adult child, with a little more distance than when you lived under my roof and relied on me. The first thing I see is: my baby. I can’t help that; you will always be my baby. And then I see you, so wonderfully unique, and so much more than I was at your age. I watch you deal with situations I never had to deal with, and I’m proud of the conscientious effort you are making. I watch you face odds you feel are stacked against you with a grace I would not have had. A grace I probably still don’t have. Sometimes I see a little of myself in you, too. Of course, then I laugh. Sorry, kid!

My beautiful girl, a light in my life.

I also see your courage and determination, and your adherence to doing things your way. It will never matter whether or not I agree or disagree with anything you do; you are forging your own life, and as your parent it is my job to let you. You may have come into this world through me, but you are your own being. I am just lucky enough to be a part of your existence.

And I am lucky. I was the first to know you, since day one.

This day, twenty-six years ago.

Happy 26^th birthday, Gooby. I love you so very much.