Handle With Care? I’m on to that game…

My mother’s bar was so high I lowered my standards. I grew up knowing that I would never fit her mold. Somewhere along the line and very early in my life I stopped trying. As a teenager I pushed her with all of the defiance my battered psyche could muster. Finally, as an adult, I see that the faults she found in me were merely a reflection of what she saw as fault in herself.

 

Eat less, smile more. Make sure you always wait for the gentleman to call, ask you out and open the door. Chuckle don’t laugh, ladies aren’t loud. Always wear dresses. No, that one is too short people will see your knees. I don’t see you advancing your career, you can’t hold a job in one place any more than five years. What will my friends think? What will they say? How can I make you as pretty as me? As thoughtful as me? As respectful as me?

 

Genetics has made me a carbon copy of her. Fortunately, I also had a Daddy who thought I was perfect just being me. You won’t see me cover my knees because hers were not pleasing to her own sight. My nose and cheeks do not have too many blood vessels and the ones I have are not too bright. The porcelain skin she would require is a Disney feature special to her and meaningless to me. I will cry and laugh out loud, I will sing off-key and dance.

 

Someone wishes to critique my writing? Please, be my guest. Your brutal honesty is all I ask for.  As long as one point is perfectly clear. Do not make your criticism of me a reflection of what you dislike about yourself. I am on to that game, and no matter the passive aggressive delivery, I will artfully dodge and roll away.

 

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