When I was five, how did you ever survive? I kept trying your eye glasses on, I wanted to be just like you. Of course you took them away, you didn’t want me to ruin my eyes by looking through a pair of perscription lenses. Don’t be like me, you said, be you.
When I was eight, you were God. I loved, adored, and believed my world revolved around you. In turn, I believed your world revolved around me. Funny thing, I was getting closer and closer to being like you since I procured a new pair of glasses. Explore the world, you said, look closely at the things around you.
When I was sixteen, you were the Devil. I was no angel either. I traded my glasses for contacts. I could see so much better than you. I love you more, you said, even though you hate me right now.
When I was twenty-one, I changed my view. I was in college and called when I needed money or advice, but mostly money. I moved to new places and learned about new cultures. It was then that I began to see you in a different light, I saw you beyond “Mom”. I called you to ask for advice a lot more than to ask for money. It’s so exciting that you are adventurous, you said, I was always afraid. Now hurry up and come home to your Mommy!
When I was thirty, you became my friend. Our primary relationship faded to shades of gray. You would always be mother and I your daughter, but it was more complex. I began to see what you went through to become a mother, the difficulties and the triumphs. We were both young and didn’t know anything, you said, it’s like we grew up together you and I.
When I had my first baby, I began to see. What I thought was difficult was nothing compared to motherhood. The hard times in my life, resolved with Mom’s advice, magnified the lessons I wanted to teach my kids. I realized how easy it would have been to give up and yet you never did. The funny thing is, my daughter wants to wear my glasses. Of course I take them away. Don’t be like me, I said, be you.