I’m reading Amy Tan’s, Opposite of Fate. It is a memoir of the author’s life. A Chinese American woman having lived a life as an accomplished author in a foreign country, with a mother that is the epitome of Asian mothers – if you’re Asian, you know the stereotype: overbearing, critical, strict, hysterical at times, overly protective to the point of bordering on maniacal, and unreasonable but all in good hearted spirits.
Reading Amy’s memoir has me revisiting my own childhood, examining my relationship with my mom, and then subsequently, my life as a parent. There is an unexplainable and unavoidable bond between a mother and child. There are no wrongs that can’t be made right. And I have Riley to thank for teaching me love.
My mom is the strongest and the most fierce woman I know. The things she has had to endure as a single parent, an immigrant, with wild ideas and unconventional lifestyle, have been tough, to say the least. There were many years of resentment towards her. There were many choices forced upon me because I was her daughter. There are many memories of my childhood I’d soon rather forget than cherish. But she did what she had to do to pave a good life for me and gave me the resources to allow me to become who I am today. Which begs the question, “who am I today?”.
Now that I myself am a Mother, I frequently examine myself in comparison to the person my mom was to me. She was absent from my childhood. She had to work. She had friends. She loved to shop. She had a million projects with only the few seeing the brief peaks of success. She had secrets from me that I wish were kept as secrets. She had a thunderous temper. She loved to entertain. She had a sense of style beyond other Moms. She was stubborn. She was lenient at the crucial times when she should have been strict. She at times seemed out of control. She was loved by her friends. She was loyal. She was funny. She loved me deeply without words or hugs. But her love for me became apparent only once I myself became a Mother. So today, as much as I disagree with her past, as much as I don’t understand her logic, as much as I wish different things for her present, as much as I wish for a different childhood for me, I still just want her right next to me. Because, well simply because, she’s my mom.
I try my best to play, laugh, love, explore, learn, hug, kiss, and grow with Riley. All the while, questioning what kind of Mother I am. I hope that I grew up to be a good person. While having emotional scars and bad memories, that my mom’s fierce personality has taught me to defeat the inevitable downward spiral of a broken childhood so that at least for Riley, he could grow up having fond memories of his own childhood, fond memories of me. That history isn't doomed to repeat itself.
But despite my desire to be a good mother, at times I suffer from bouts of depression. I’m unsure why this happens but any great psychologist will without a doubt blame my childhood. When I get hit with these episodes, I become numb. Oblivious and unmotivated by anything and anyone around me. I will sit on a piece of furniture and before I know it, will begin to feel as if I’ve become a part of that furniture; sunken into it, like a stain on that chair that can’t be removed.
The amazing thing though is that as I sit there, oblivious and unmotivated, my son Riley will quietly climb next to my furniture state of being, put his head in my arms and sit there, content just to be in my arms. Because I realize that all he really wants is for me to be right next to him, simply because I’m his mom.
So who am I today? I am imperfect and loved. Thank you, Riley, for loving me despite.
I love you with all my heart.
Riley is a Puppy. Year of the Dog. Woof!
Here I am, representin. Rowr!
After Chinatown, we drove to the Old Orchard for some Love's yogurt. I savored mine while..
...Riley devoured his.
After:
