As I’m sure you can imagine, I don’t get out much. For the most part I can be found in 1 of 4 places: the house where I live, the school where I teach, Shoprite, and the liquor store. But last night, I went to a party! A real party. I showered and shaved my legs and wore a dress and high heel shoes and put on makeup and jewelry! I forgot I HAD jewelry. I even tried to blow dry my hair but my corpse of a hair dryer wouldn’t turn on. I think it died of loneliness. I can’t believe some women do this all the time: it’s exhausting looking presentable, which is why I never do it. And I had fun! Lots of fun! I ate delicious food and drank way too much of something red with cranberries floating in it and talked to people I never get to talk to. One of the ladies, Tara, is someone I grew up with. Her name isn’t really Tara but she wouldn’t want me using her name in this blog and I’ve always thought she kinda looks like a Tara. I would describe us as friendly acquaintances. She’s one year older than me, we didn’t go to the same high school, and though our daughters are the same age, they don’t participate in the same activities, so I never had occasion to get to know her. Well last night, thankfully before I’d had too much of the red stuff, Tara pulled me aside to say how much she likes this blog and ask my opinion about something.
Tara: I think I’m a bad mother.
Me: What!!!!!Why??!!!
Tara: Tinkerbelle wants to try out for the cheerleading squad but she can’t dance, at all. The girl has 2 left feet and no balance so I told her maybe she should consider something else like the play because she has a beautiful singing voice.
Obviously Tara’s daughter is not named Tinkerbelle, I’m just calling her that because she’s adorable.
Me: And this makes you a bad mother?
Tara: Well I mentioned this to a bunch of women at soccer practice last night and one of them said, “Why are you discouraging your daughter like that? You can’t tell your child she’s a bad dancer it will hurt her feelings. ”
Me: Why are you telling me this?
Tara: I wanted to know if you think she’s right.
Dear Tara,
Though we talked about this at length last night, I need to expand upon what I said. Nowadays newspapers and magazines are littered with articles criticizing the “Millennials” for being a bunch of whining crybabies who can’t handle pressure or criticism of any kind. Why? Because their parents have sheltered them from all disappointment, raised them to be utterly dependent and convinced them they’re the best…at everything. Sadly, our generation seems to be following in these same, detrimental footsteps. Everything needs to be fair, no one’s feelings can ever get hurt and everyone should get an award, even if they haven’t earned it. Here’s a perfect example:
When Dana was in kindergarten she won the swim races at camp and therefore received the Fastest Swimmer award. When she was in first grade she won the races and the award again. Then came second grade. A new girl joined camp and like Dana, she was an excellent swimmer. Faced with the possibility of losing the swim races, Dana took it upon herself to swim the length of my lake every day after camp for 3 weeks to prepare: I was so proud of her. The day of the races I was so nervous watching Dana swim I thought I would faint, but she won. I’d never seen her so happy, I’d never felt so proud and neither one of us could wait for the awards ceremony. When her camp counselor stood up to present the awards I thought we would both explode with anticipation, and The Title of Fastest Swimmer went to >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>the other girl. Even sitting here typing I can taste the bile that rose in my throat watching that girl walk up to receive the award my daughter had worked so hard to earn. Worse than that, I remember the look on Dana’s face when she turned to me in the stands and mouthed the word, ”Why?” After the ceremony, although it was difficult, I kept my composure when I questioned the camp director as to why they gave Dana’s award to the girl she defeated. Her response?
“We can’t give the award to the same girl three years in a row.”
“Why?”
“Parents would complain.”
“OK. But if you’re not going to give the girl who wins the swim races the Fastest Swimmer award, why have swim races?”
To this she had no response, so I stormed out and bought Dana ice cream in a pathetic attempt to console her. As she sat there with tears and melted ice cream dripping down her arm, Dana looked at me and asked, “Why Mommy? Why did they give the award to the girl who didn’t win?” And I told her the truth: “Because my darling, some mothers really fucking suck.” I didn’t say fuck but I was thinking it.
Tara I said it last night but I’ll say it again: I think you are an excellent mother and the crone who criticized you is not. We are not doing our children any favors by telling them they are great at something they suck at. It is better to encourage them to focus their energy building upon their strengths. Because of mothers like the crone, obese teenagers walk the beach thinking they’re sexy and tone deaf children torture us with solos at the talent show. I don’t know if you remember this or not but we played basketball together in grammar school. The first year I tried out for the team I got cut and it was devastating. You know what my father said? “If you got cut it’s because all the girls who made the team are better than you. If you want to play basketball get off your ass and start practicing.” Now I’m sure to mothers like the crone this sounds like child abuse but guess what: the following year I weighed 15 pounds less and I made the team.
When her daughter has a horrible singing voice, the crone says, “Your voice is like music my dearest why don’t you sing a solo at the talent show?!”
Mothers like us say, “Dana, I don’t want to hurt your feelings but your singing needs work. If it’s something you’re determined to do, and you’re willing to practice, I will get you singing lessons.”
When her daughter is obese, the crone says, “Darling your figure is to die for let’s go buy you a bikini!”
Mothers like us say, “Honey, you do not look attractive in that bathing suit. You have 2 choices: buy a tasteful one piece or go on a diet.”
It’s hard to tell your children the truth and watch them hurt, which is why so many mothers are unwilling to do it. This is a cruel and difficult life to navigate, and the people who do it successfully are the ones who were taught to handle disappointment gracefully starting at a young age. That’s why, even though it was physically painful, I made Dana congratulate the girl who took home the Fastest Swimmer award in second grade. That’s why Tinkerbelle is polite and courteous whereas the crone’s daughter, in MY opinion, is a spoiled brat.
I THINK you are a nice but I KNOW you are smart which is why I still can’t believe you allowed this woman to question your obviously excellent parenting skills. Good mothers don’t criticize other mothers at all. Only crones criticize and offer unwarranted advice, because deep down they know they’ve taken the easy way out and are trying to validate their cowardice.
I am very hard on all three of my children. I make no excuses for them and whatever they want, I make them earn it. When Dana didn’t get a lead in “Sleeping Beauty” she was heartbroken and swore she was going to quit. My response? “You checked off on the form that you would accept any part so you are going to that read through if I have to drag you there by your hair. Furthermore, you will congratulate the girl who got the part you wanted. She gave a better audition, plain and simple. You spent 2 hours preparing your audition. Next year, make it 2 weeks and then MAYBE I’ll feel sorry for you if you don’t get a lead. Until then, suck it up.”
This is the way I talk to my kids, even Kevin. “You’re disabled? That’s a terrible shame but this world, that you’re going to have to navigate someday, doesn’t give a shit.” Although he hates doing it, Kevin CAN cut his own food. Yesterday he asked me to cut his French toast for him. I said, “No, do it yourself,” and he threw his breakfast all over my floor. When I told him to clean it up he threw his fork at me so I picked him up, put him outside, and locked the door. He stood out there screaming and throwing rocks at my house for almost an hour. Every 10 minutes or so I would open the door and ask, “Are you ready to clean up the mess you made?” He’d scream, “NO!!” and I’d slam the door in his face. I’m sure the crone will say that was cruel, but after an hour he came in, cleaned up the mess, and apologized. Then I made him more French toast, which he cut himself, without argument. An inferior mother will ask why I didn’t just clean up the mess myself. My answer? Cleaning the mess would have validated inexcusable behavior, and that’s not the type of household I run. I’m doing what is necessary to create responsible, conscientious, hard working adults who are capable of navigating this world without me. I am a good mother Tara, just like you.
Home run!
Thank you whoever you are