A Compliment
Today was pretty run-of-the-mill until I helped this one customer find books for his 4-year-old girl. Apparently, the little tyke was interested in how a girl's plumbing differs from a boy's--needless to say, our supply on books that cover that topic are quite limited (this being GA, where sex is something you don't discuss until Bobbi-Joe finds herself pregnant at 15 and has no idea how it happened). And as the customer and I got to talking, I suggested more books for his precocious preschooler (which had nothing whatsoever to do with human anatomy--they were just cute stories) and after he looked at what I handed him, he asked me if I had any children of my own--and I answered that, no, I had no children right now, but that in the future I would like some. He gave me a compliment that I've heard before, but it never really resonated until now. He said: "I know you'll be a great mother someday." One would think, why would she consider that a compliment? Isn't that buying into the establishment? Isn't he just suggesting that she should just follow the age-old notion of being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen? No, he's not. Granted, I am a feminist, but I'm also a firm believer in the great impact that a mother has in a child's life. And if anyone should be aware of that fact, it's me. Being raised mostly by my father, I realized how much I've missed, how much knowledge a mother has to offer. I never had anyone to help me with my hair or make-up; no one to teach me the acceptable laws of fashion and etiquette; no one who would teach me to cook, decorate, or about the ways of men. I (with my father's help--bless his heart, he tried so hard) had to teach myself on my own. Before my father married, and as the eldest girl, I was the woman of the house. I was resposible for cleaning, making sure my sister and I got to school, making sure we both had our lunches and breakfasts; I tried my best to make our house look presentable to others---I was no more than 10 years old. I was responsible for getting dinner started when Dad was on his way home, for making sure that Becky got off the bus at the right stop, making snacks for us after school, etc. So you can imagine how much this small compliment meant to me. Only now am I humbled by it.
And although it's obvious I have a mother (and a step-mother), it doesn't make up for the loss in my formative years. All of you die-hard feminists will cringe when I say that being a mother is one of the most important jobs in the world, but it's true. Ironically, I feel that it's one of the reasons I chose to live---to undo the damage my mother has done, so that my future children will never know what hunger or abuse is; so that they will know in their hearts that the woman who bore them honestly wanted them to live and prosper on this earth. I may never turn out to be a great woman whose life and achievements are written down in the history books, but at least I can have the consolation of resetting the balance, of righting a wrong, and of putting to halt a cycle of continuous abandonment and abuse. So truly, that stranger's compliment touched me more than he will ever know. And as I write these very words you read, my eyes fill with tears.
And although it's obvious I have a mother (and a step-mother), it doesn't make up for the loss in my formative years. All of you die-hard feminists will cringe when I say that being a mother is one of the most important jobs in the world, but it's true. Ironically, I feel that it's one of the reasons I chose to live---to undo the damage my mother has done, so that my future children will never know what hunger or abuse is; so that they will know in their hearts that the woman who bore them honestly wanted them to live and prosper on this earth. I may never turn out to be a great woman whose life and achievements are written down in the history books, but at least I can have the consolation of resetting the balance, of righting a wrong, and of putting to halt a cycle of continuous abandonment and abuse. So truly, that stranger's compliment touched me more than he will ever know. And as I write these very words you read, my eyes fill with tears.