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Lessons I Learned from My Mother

iUniverse, Inc.

Chapter One

I was an accident. I guess the more politically correct term is "unplanned." My mother was young and not ready to start a family, but like so many young women in love, things happen. Abortion wasn't legal, but was attainable. Despite changing social mores and a shifting culture toward personal freedom and choice, when presented with the option of an abortion, my mother refused. Despite whatever precautions we may take in life, sometimes actions lead to unintended consequences, but those consequences are your responsibility nonetheless. My mother has never spoken these exact words to me, but she taught me this lesson in so many ways by her words and deeds, and continues to live by this philosophy to this day. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Life lesson number one from my mother is "you didn't come with a manual."

If I had a dollar for every time I heard my mother say "you didn't come with a manual," or the later derivative, "I've done the best I can, but parenthood doesn't come with an instruction manual," I'd be a rich man. I know this is not an earth-shattering revelation, and my mother certainly didn't invent this phrase. I'm sure many people of my generation, and generations before, have heard or felt this. This may not be as true for the Millennial generation and the emerging post-Millennials now populating our educational system since the self-help industry exploded, producing more "how to" and "this and that for dummies" manuals than are probably healthy for society. I'm sure even the tail end of my generation, as I've been labeled "Gen X," experienced the post-Dr. Spock explosion of shifting opinions on the "right" way to raise your children. My childhood slipped by before the "Baby on Board" phenomenon forced us all to feel obligated to protect children to the point of creating protective bubbles around them, and thank goodness because I need my immune system fully developed and functional, not sanitized and encapsulated in a hermetically sealed and manufactured environment.

As children, we seek out our parents and other elders for answers to the never-ending questions we have about life and our world. It was a bit disheartening to learn that my mother didn't have all the answers. My friends' parents seemed to have the answers to their questions, so why didn't my mother borrow their manual? Clearly I was defective and arrived in an incomplete package, so why didn't my mother return me, or refuse the delivery? Hold out until you get the complete model with the manual. Then she let me in on the secret—there is no manual. Nobody comes with one. Some parents may be highly educated, and some may be well-read, but no two models are alike and all those guidebooks can't translate into a perfect parenting strategy.

Don't get me wrong—there are definitely some wrong things parents can do. I've witnessed this time and time again both growing up and in my professional life. But there isn't one right way to raise a child, just a broad spectrum of options that may or may not work in any given situation. I fully own the fact that it is always easier for the couch-potato coach to spout off about how the real coach should be playing the game, so please know it is not my intention to turn this into a book on parenting. I have no children of my own, but I've played at times a significant part in raising thousands of other people's children in the past twenty years, so I feel somewhat qualified to at least reflect on what I see going on around me.

My primary purpose in this book is to reflect on what I learned from my mother, and how those lessons helped shape me into the person I am today. Along the way, I may throw in some of my own commentary, and I won't guarantee that my mother would agree with me. My mother is not perfect, and I am in no way trying to portray her in a saintly light (although she is quick to remind me that she scored a perfect 100 on the New York State Math Regents exam, where I only scored a 99).

We've had some really rough times throughout the years, and there were moments when I wondered if one or the other of us would make it through. However, she is an amazing woman, and for someone who experienced tremendous challenges and struggles throughout her life, she is incredibly optimistic and positively impacts more people's lives than she will ever know. I am yet to visit her even once and not meet someone who feels compelled to share with me how grateful they are to my mother. She doesn't deal well with these types of compliments and is probably mortified that I wrote this book. I hope by the end she will forgive me.

I'm pretty sure my mother would be equally embarrassed to know I talk about her—a lot. While of course she is the inspiration for this book, I've been prodded along for many years by my students and co-workers to write this book. As I share stories, ranging from funny to horrifying, of my life with my mother, people are sometimes shocked, but often impressed (more so impressed that she never killed me). In every class I have ever taught, as I brainstorm for examples to illuminate certain points in the text, my mind naturally wanders to lessons I have learned from my mother. They flow out of me as I lecture—I can't stop them.

Another "aha" moment I first experienced after going away to college and establishing what I felt was my independent sense of self, wholly separate and unique, was how much we really do reflect our parents. The first time a college friend met my mother, he said, "oh, now I understand you." I wasn't sure if that was an insult or a compliment, a commentary on me or on my mother. I pretty much let the comment go at the time, not really wanting to understand it. But as the years progressed and more opportunities arose for people who had only known me in my adult life to then later meet my mother, this exact sentiment repeated itself.

Through the years I've come to take this as a huge compliment, to both of us. I feel like I've turned out pretty well, so for people who hold me in high regard to reflect positively upon my mother makes me feel proud. Even as I describe the lessons I've learned from my mother, I know I've taught her a few along the way. Our symbiotic existence has made both of our lives better and hopefully emanated from each of us in ways that will leave our respective worlds a bit better than we found them. This is my sincere wish for everyone; to live a life in connection with others that generates positive outcomes, no matter how small or large. But I digress, as I tend to do.

So let's get back to that missing manual. I've learned two critical lessons from my mother's incessant use of this phrase. First, there is no roadmap to life, and nobody can tell you exactly what to expect or how to decide what actions are best in any given situation. Despite the best made plans and dreams, as life unfolds things happen beyond your control. Even the strongest desire and will cannot make every detail happen according to a perfect plan. I would give my sister a hard time when she would share her roadmap for the future, which included the age she would be when she got married, had each of her children, etc. I couldn't resist reminding her that there was a critical missing variable in her plans, another person, and...