Thanks, Mom, for telling me no

LOLITA HARPER

My mom was totally uncool. It seemed as if I was the only junior at

Woodbridge High School that had to be home by midnight and my mother

called the parents each time I was invited to spend the night

somewhere. Ugh.

I swear, she had it in for me. She was destined to keep me home,

lonely, bored and unpopular.

My mom did not understand fashion. She never bought me those

awesome, tapered-leg Guess jeans that zipped up on the sides. I was

the only girl at Lakeside Middle School who wore generic denim.

I swear, she just didn’t understand why a 12-year-old desperately

needed a $65 pair of jeans.

My mom never bought me Cookie Crisp cereal for breakfast. It

seemed as if I was the only kindergartner who didn’t come to class

hopped up on sugar, only to crash from my high right around nap time.

I swear, just once, I would have loved to have been able to have

dessert for breakfast.

In the years and decades to come, I learned that it wasn’t my

mom’s job to be cool or to be my best friend. It wasn’t her job to

make sure I was up with all the latest fashion trends and put us in

the poor house just to make me look good. It was her job to raise me.

And all those unpopular rules she placed on me helped with that goal.

I’m sure there were times when it might have been easier for her

to bend the rules and save a few knock-down, drag-out arguments -- to

have her daughter think she was “the coolest.” But, to her, it was

more important that she uphold the rules of the house, which were

created out of a belief that they were the best for me and our small

family of two.

“Nobody else’s parents do this,” I would say, in a fit of rage.

“That’s because nobody else’s parents love you as much as I do,”

my mom would answer back.

“I hate you,” I would scream and slam the door of my bedroom.

I’m sure the words felt like a slap in the face, especially

because her actions were done out of love and I was responding with

venom, but she was unbending. And so was I -- proving that the apple

doesn’t fall far from the tree -- and I got into my fair share of

trouble. I am convinced it would have been tenfold had my mother not

been so strict.

But it wasn’t the trouble that she kept me from, or didn’t keep me

from, that was so important. It was the lessons in parenting that she

taught me that I hope to instill in my son. It’s easy to be a “fun”

parent, it’s much harder to be a good one.

Consistency. Tough love. The courage to walk your talk. I learned

them from watching my mom.

Even though my son is only 4, I already feel a great pressure to

keep him happy and, as silly as it sounds, to have him like me. It is

hard to come home from a long day at work and have to spend the

majority of the evening bickering about having three pieces of

Halloween candy, rather than the two-piece limit previously enacted.

It would be much more peaceful to give him the third piece and end

the argument (Yes, my 4-year-old can argue -- well. I wonder where he

gets it from?).

When I am tempted, or worse, when I find myself giving in, I am

reminded of what a better mother would do. I am reminded of what my

mother would do. My son needs to know who the parent is and if he

doesn’t like it, he needs to know that it is done out of love. And if

he still doesn’t like it, tough -- he will someday.

My mom and I went through seven horrible years, in which I tested

and she stood firm. From the age of 13 to 20 we yelled, cried and

fought. For seven years I stressed my poor mother out. We rarely

spoke after I left for college and it wasn’t until I learned I was

pregnant that we became close again.

Something about being a mother made me appreciate my mother

100-fold and now, I don’t know how I could have ever taken her for

granted. Even when she was waiting tables, cleaning houses or going

back to school she made sure our house was clean, our meals were

cooked and we still had fun, yet inexpensive excursions, such as

trips to public beaches or parks.

As I run around my apartment, like a chicken with my head cut off,

trying to figure out how to get lunches made, faces washed and the

laundry done, I realize just how great a mother I had.

Thank you, Mom, for truly being the best. Thank you for standing

your ground. Thank you for being such a great role model.

It cost us seven years of hell but now we really are best friends.

Now that we are both adults, we are capable of having a “girlfriends”

relationship. In my youth, her job was to raise me. Now she has the

luxury of sitting back, admiring the job she did, and learning from

me, in return. We try to sit down for wine, dinner and conversation

as often as we can.

And unlike my teen years, when I wanted to be as far away from her

as possible, I now live two blocks away from her -- and can’t imagine

it any other way.

* LOLITA HARPER is the Forum editor. She also writes columns

Wednesdays and Fridays. She may be reached at (949) 574-4275 or by

e-mail at [email protected].