How I Am Turning into My Mother

I have become the kind of parent I swore I would never be. I am saying things to Ian that I swore I never would. Phrases such as "because I said so," or "You want to cry, I'll give you something to cry about," or my all time favorite, "just do what I say now or else."

When I was a child I never understood the "because I said so." I thought that it didn't seem like a very good answer. What if my mother was telling me to jump off a bridge? Would I jump off the bridge because she said so?

As a parent of a 14 year old boy, I finally understand her. What she was really saying was "Do not ask me any more questions. Do not talk to me. Do not even look at me." When Jordan was born I read boxes of books on child rearing. I was NOT ever going to be the kind of parent my mother was. I was always going to be interested in everything he said. I was always going to be patient even after the thirteenth question on why dogs are named dogs and cats are named cats. Never happened - you become the parent your parent was.

My grandfather was the one who used to say "You want something to cry about, I'll give you something to cry about." Why would we want something to cry about? And what was he going to give us? A new pony? A shiny red sports car? I don't think so.

As a parent of a 14 year old boy, I finally understand him. I want my child to quit whining and pleading and in all honesty, quit talking and possibly move away. I was following in my grandfather's footsteps - the man who once told me after my first horse died, "Things die."

My mother was a single mom, so she used the phrase "just do what I say now or else" frequently. Usually this was in reference to setting the table, making our beds or quit fighting with each other.  I always wondered what the "or else" was. If we didn't do what she said, would she: send us to live with foster parents, give our dog away or hand us a million dollars?

As a parent of a 14 year old boy, I finally understand her. She wanted us to do what she asked in complete silence, complete obedience, complete adoration and then ask for more chores.

I remember once my mother actually pulled the car over, flung open her door, flung open the back door, pulled my sister and I out of the car, slammed the back door shut, got in the front and drove off, gravel spinning. My sister and I had violated all her rules: we didn't do what she asked, we didn't quit whining and we certainly didn't do what she said so.

We were in front of the drive-in movie theater. It was hot and it didn't look like she'd be coming back soon. So what did my sister and I do? We started throwing gravel at each other so by the time my grandfather came to pick us up we had red welts over any patch of skin that was not sheltered by clothing. We didn't say a thing. He didn't say a thing. We climbed in the front seat of his truck, he took us home and we set the table and started dinner and cleaned out the kitty litter box and dusted. We were really, really good for 24 hours.

There are days that if I could get away with dumping my teenage son off on a road somewhere I would.

But until then I'm going to resort to the tried and true methods of my mother: Because I said so, you want something to cry about I'll give you something to cry about and just do it now or else.  It won't get me Parent of the Year, but it might get me some peace and quiet and a little less eye-rolling.