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.