My Mother - Travel Agent For Guilt Trips, Inc.

      How would you like to go on a nice vacation...a chance to just get away from it all?  The time away would be so enjoyable not having to put up with the same thing constantly.   It's not the putting up with the job or the weather or the house, because you're not tired of those things.  What I'm talking about is getting away from "that woman"; the one you call mom.  I know, she's your mother; the only one you'll ever have.  But if your's is anything like mine at times, you sometimes wonder if you were switched at birth.  That lady simply drives me crazy with her underhanded practices of making me feel like things are my fault...when there's not a thing wrong in the first place.

      When I was young and growing up, I never had any kind of relationship with my mother.  I was more of a target for her aim when she wanted to hit something.  There were no warm hugs and cuddles; no emotional connection whatsoever.  She took care of me in a minimal sense, I supposed, making sure I had what she felt I needed but not what I really wanted.  The job she had, as a housewife, I do have to admit she did fairly well; almost too robotic-like.  She shopped for groceries with my father in tow seeing how he had to take her.  She never got her driver's license until she was in her mid-40's.  The meals she prepared were pretty good for the most part and we always punctual.  There are some things she made that no one else has ever been able to duplicate and her's still taste the best to this day.  I always had nice clothes and the laundry was done on a daily basis and hung outdoors to dry after they were washed.  Even to this day, with a dryer sitting next to her washing machine, she likes to hang everything on the line outside her back door.  Our house was immaculately clean with her vacuuming the carpets and dust mopping the hardwood floors every single day.  She even insisted washing the dishes by hand.  She seemed more like a maid than she did a mother.

      I left home at the very early age of 15 and ventured out on my own.  I had to escape from her and her warped, controlling ways.  She always came across as a general in Hilter's army ruling the roost with an iron fist.  "Zis ist mine house und joo vill do as joo are told und zat vill be done mine vay, dummkopf!"  I think that's where I got my habit of following routines from.  Once I woke up in the morning, my bed had to be made, my clothes from the prior day had to be picked up and the room straigthened...before I was allowed to leave my room.  Then, it was into the bathroom to take care of business, get cleaned up and brush my teeth.  I always had a buzz cut, so I never had any hair to have to worry about combing; just bristles.  She had barber's clippers she made my father chop my hair down with every month.  Only after I was done in the bathroom was I to come downstairs and sit at the kitchen table for my breakfast; the same thing every day.  I would have to start with a glass of Tang.  I enjoyed the taste of Tang, but have you ever drank it right after you've brushed your teeth.  Talk about sour and bitter.  I'd get to wash that down with a big glass of cold milk...and then I was ready to be chauffeaur driven to school.

      Once I moved away from home, I avoided that place like the plague.  I even lived a couple blocks away at one point.  To go anywhere, I'd drive to an intersection that was two doors away from my old home.  I always made a left turn, because if I went right; I'd have to pass the house and may have to see her outside hanging laundry or sweeping the front porch.  I had seen enough of that woman to last a lifetime.  It sounds mean, but I was enjoying my freedom away from her; the private gestapo force of one.

      It didn't last forever as I grew and matured.  I was the one who finally gave in after so many stressed "they are your parents after all."  I tried to let bygones be bygones and do what was right; what was expected of me as a son.  I sat the both of them down one day to have a nice heart-to-heart talk about about the past and the way I was treated.  Dad didn't say much; as was the case usually.  Mom kept insisting I was "pipe dreaming"; those things never happened.  Listen, lady, I lived through them...and survived.  It was my behind on the line and I can remember every little thing quite vividly.  I eventually forgave; but never forgot...and was never going to let anything like that ever happen again.  Our relationship warmed up a bit but never became what a real family should be like.

      She did eventually mellow somewhat in her old age; only because the "inmates", my sister and I, had both served our time and were gone now.  She had no one to control.  Though my father had seemed like a meek, hen-pecked husband most of the time, he never put up with her shenanigans.  What he said went...and she knew that from the beginning of their relationship.  That had been instilled in her so much; she never questioned.  Since we were next in the pecking order, we were the ones she kept under her thumb.  Once we reached adulthood; she was now powerless...or so we thought.

      She eventually took a different course of action.  Being unable to tell us what to do any more, now, she would attempt to get us to do what she wanted by other means.  She wouldn't come right and ask something, nor sit and discuss situations.  She tried her own brand of psychology...by using guilt.  I soon learned that was almost as bad as her prior methods.  She still tried it make things my fault because I wasn't doing as mother wished.  At least now, I had the ultimate decision of what I wanted.  Do I want to make her feel good or do I want to do what I really want to do?  I always won out even though I'd occassionally feel bad because she had tried brow-beating me do her bidding.  There were even times I was willing to do something her way, but wouldn't, just so she couldn't come out the victor getting her own way and what she wanted.

      She didn't have many aspirations in life; never wanted a career or even a job, didn't want to travel to far-away places, wealth wasn't even one of her goals.  She got most of what her simple pleasures were...she was married, had children and owned a home...the American dream.  One thing she did want was grandchildren...and it was up to my sister and I to give them to her.  Sis married an army boy and they did a bit of traveling through the service.  Since they weren't totally settled down; they decided to wait to start a family until he had at least ten years under his belt.  So the pressure was on me to produce...and reproduce.  Knowing the way she had been when I was growing up, I never wanted to subject any children I had to her wrath.  Had I become a father, I would have done all I could to keep my offspring right away from her as much as possible.

      Every time I saw her, it was the same old song and dance.  If I loved her, I'd get married to a nice girl and give her grandbabies.  I cared about her, I guess, but I didn't love her that much.  I was too busy living and loving my life...for me.  I didn't want to be tied down quite yet; not with a wife and children.  I had too much I wanted to do and there was too much fun I hadn't had yet.  After a few years of harping on me about the subject; her tune changed.  I no longer had to get married.  I had her "permission" to live with a girl out of wedlock; just as long as I had babies.  I still wasn't budging on my position because I was still having fun enjoying my life as it was with no baggage and not being tied down.  Eventually, she conceded it didn't even have to be a white girl.  She could be any color; just as long as she bore grandbabies for good, old mom.  How dare she!  I finally came right and told her she could hold her hand on her caboose waiting because my sister would have to be the one who popped them out because it would be a cold day in Hades before I'd become a father first.  I stood fast to my word...and my sister presented her with two grandsons two years apart.  I've gone from wanting a large family to not knowing if I want children at all now seeing how I'm getting up there in years and don't even have a partner to become a parent with.

      She still gets on my case about settling down and starting a family, but it's not as often any more...because I don't see or talk to her all that much to give her the opportunity.  I used to visit on a regular basis when her eyesight first started going and my father began to show early stages of Alzheimer's disease.  My sister and her husband moved back stateside from Germany once their first boy was born.  After a short visit, they went to Arizona and then Georgia.  Upon his retirement from the service, they came back here to live.  Being so used to their independance, they didn't bother with my parents too much, so all of the responsibilities fell on my shoulders.  That became especially straining once both got to the point they could no longer transport themselves anywhere...her vision not allowing her to drive and his state of mind making it unsafe for him to get behind the wheel. 

      I'd get the last-minute phone calls.  He needed to go to the doctor.  If I didn't want him to die; I'd drive them.  They had known for a month, but she'd call an hour before they had to be there and I'd have to drop everything to play taxi.  Not just him, since it was his appointment...both of them would go.  Great!  I'd have to put up with her, too.  I'd have to run her to the grocery store twice a week.  The sale fliers would come out Sunday and she just had to get there before the store sold out.  Every week, it always included something that was one of my father's favorites.  I wouldn't want to deprive a dying man from what may be one of his last pleasures in life.  And when I'd take her back to the same store mid-week to do the bulk of her shopping, they always had those very same sale items still in stock on the shelves.  There were also those 6 AM "emergency" phone calls, too, jarring me from my sleep.  Knowing dad had a history of heart attacks and strokes in addition to Alzheimer's, I was always prepared for the worst.  Something has happened to him because she's being so frantic on the phone.  They needed my help right away!  What's wrong...what's wrong?  She was wondering if I could run to the store for them...right now...because they needed a quart of milk...for dinner! 

      A few years ago, when I decided to move to a nearby city an hour away, you would have thought I stuck a knife into her chest and cut out her heart.  She was actually expecting me to drive down on a nearly daily basis to do things for them.  I already knew she was out of her mind, but the old gal had finally cracked more than Humpty Dumpty did when he fell off his wall...and there's no amount of super glue to put her back together again.  Lady, have you ever heard of a cab...or the senior citizen bus?  Not to mention you've got a daughter who lives in the same town just five miles away.  I'm moving and you "kids" are just going to have to fend for yourselves while I'm away.  I didn't think it was cruel seeing how I had kowtowed to their needs for years.  It was my turn to go out and find my place in life away from the area I didn't want to be in for the so many years that I stayed. 

      I moved and they got along fine without me.  We kept in touch and every once in awhile, I'd even drive down to visit.  But her bitterness returned, despite slipping me a few extra bucks or giving me some food to take home with me.  Dad had been ailing for years, but was so ornery himself, I figured he'd be around for many more.  And with all the false alarms of him not making it to the next holiday, it didn't concern me too much when she'd tell me he wasn't feeling well.  Once his mental faculties finally left him, so did his will to live...and he passed quickly; less than 12 hours after he entered the hopsital.  She had honored the promise she made caring for him at home until the end despite her going blind.  That's when she pulled her biggest stunt to make me feel bad.  I hadn't been informed he had gone downhill because "there was nothing I could have done anyway."  What's worse, even though she knew exactly where I lived, I didn't find out for a week and a half he had passed away. I didn't know until a friend sent his obituary from the newspaper in case I'd like it as a keepsake; not her. 

      Fed up with her emotional games, I really don't deal with her much any more.  I don't deny her when she calls.  I just don't make it a point to allow her manipulations any more.  I got tired of feeling bad over things that were beyond my control and not my fault.  In the 2 1/2 years dad's been gone, I've seen her three times.  My sister and her family, my mother, one of her younger brothers who lost his wife around the same time dad died, and I gathered for Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant one year...last summer when I was hospitalized for foot surgery...and late November this past year when she dropped off care packages of food for Christmas.  Those are the only times I've seen her...and we live a mile apart pretty much down the street from each other.

      I'm sure all of your mothers have their little tricks for trying to get you to do what they want.  You've gone through similar experiences, though maybe not the same or as quite severe.  We all know the feeling and sometimes have to just roll our eyes.  No matter what way we deal with it; they'll always be our mother.  I just can't quite figure mine out...and have quit trying.  She is who she is and she does what she does and nothing is ever going to change.  The only thing I can figure out is it must develop once they have children.  My mother isn't Italian.  She's not even Jewish.  I have no other explaination where it comes from.  By the way mom, next time you send me on one of your guilt trips, can you at least check the baggage...and can I get a window seat, too?