“I’d be lost without her,” my friend lamented the other day.
She was talking about her mother.
It was a foreign sentiment to me–the earnest appreciation of the bond between mother and daughter. I suppose it’s because the relationship with my own mother has always been strained.
From an early age, I knew my mother was different from other moms. Around the same time, I believe she came to a similar realization about me; that I was not going to be the daughter she’d always imagined I’d be.
I think that’s when the distance between us began to grow. We have always been two extremely different people from two extremely different worlds. Throughout the years, I’ve lost count of the times and ways we’ve hurt each other; the months we’ve gone without speaking.
Today, the absence between us is as wide as it is far. It will never recede–something I accepted long ago. When I became a mother myself, it still wasn’t enough to bridge the gap we’d created over time and space.
But when push comes to shove, she’s always had my back.
GYM CLASS HERO
It was 1996 and I was in the eighth grade. Gym class had just ended and I was changing in the locker room with the rest of the girls from my class.
Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, one of the loudest and most aggressive girls in the class yelled out, “Rebecca smells!” and the room erupted in laughter.
For the record, this was probably the first and only time I’d ever experienced any form of “bullying”. By today’s standards, being called out for stinking up the place (which I did NOT, by the way) wouldn’t even register on the bullying scale.
While being made fun of in front of half the class by the girls who could afford new clothes and dance lessons wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities, I got over it pretty quickly. Again, let’s not even call this bullying.
Let’s call it what it really is–kind of hilarious.
At least I thought so.
I remember casually mentioning the incident to my mother over supper that night, but thought nothing more of it the next day. Life resumed.
At least I thought it did.
Little did I know, while I was eating my lunch in the cafeteria the following afternoon, my mother was on a mission. After the lunchroom cleared out and the children were herded outside, something strange started happening.
One by one, they came up to me.
And one by one, they apologized.
“I’m sorry I laughed yesterday in the locker room.”
“She shouldn’t have said that to you for no reason.”
“I apologize for saying that you smell, I won’t do it again.”
Don’t Mess With My Child
I never found out exactly what she did, or how she did it.
Did she spend the night calling around to a handful of eighth grade moms, demanding an apology from their daughters?
Did she march down to the schoolyard that morning to meet with the gym teacher?
Did she somehow manage to personally track down and confront each and every one of those girls?
Furious and mortified beyond belief, I refused to speak to her for days. My life was over. How dare she embarrass me like that! I didn’t need my mommy to fight my battles. This wasn’t even a battle!
But that’s the thing. She wanted to fight for me, even if I didn’t want to fight for myself.
And whether she knew by doing what she did, she would make my life a lot worse, I eventually came to understand that it came from a place of love. Despite our differences, at the end of the day, she was just a mom, standing in front of a gobsmacked preteen girl, asking her not to bully her child.
So happy Mother’s Day, mom.
We may not always see eye to eye, but you’ll always be my gym class hero.