What my mom taught me.

I remember times growing up where I would hear M talking in an upset tone to mom in the bdrm next door.  Mom was always the go-to person for every single person in this household.  She knew how to console us.  She had the most difficult task of being the middle person for us all.

And I remember wandering into my parents’ master bdrm one evening when mom was alone.  I may have asked what was wrong with M.   I may have been worried about M, or mom.  I can’t remember. But I do distinctly remember my mom telling me that, when you give birth to a person, you have a responsibility to listen to them.

That was one of my first distinctive and directive lessons I remember my mom giving me on how to be a good parent- even though she didn’t spell it out that way.  I was probably only 15 at the time.

Much of the little I understand in how to be a good parent comes much more from mom’s actions than her telling me to do a, b or c.  But that conversation struck a core in me, most likely because of how solemn that moment was.  My mother’s matter of fact opinion.  A mother’s worries.

 

 

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