When I was a teenager, many moons ago, I used to love the show One Day at a Time. The show was about a divorced mother and her two teenage girls. Of all the shows my sister and I would watch, this one resembled our life more than any other, and I love how it showed the best of what we could be. Like most shows in the 70’s, what is portrayed is not actually what real life is like. Maybe that is what I love most about watching TV and movies - the escape it offers from the reality of we all face in the day-to-day struggle. In our little family of three, there was my mother - divorced three times by that time in my childhood - my older sister, who I associated more with the younger sister in the show, Barbara, and lastly there was me. Since my sister Shauna was represented by Barbara in the show, I identified with the older sister, Julie. Ultimately it didn’t really matter who in the show was like whom in my family. I just loved the idea of how much the story mirrored our own and the dream of a happy funny life that our family could have been. Sadly, the similarities between the show and my family life ended at the surface resemblances. Behind the curtain of our little life, the reality was more lonely and dark than funny and happy. For me, life was filled with fear and insecurity and by my teenage years, I was acting out in ever increasing outlandish ways; desperately trying to find love and connection.
To be clear, my mother did the best she could with what she had and who she was. This may sound cliché, and it is, but hey - there’s a reason phrases become cliché, which is rooted in truth. Mom was, and still is a brilliant and talented woman. My mother is in her 80’s now and she’s still one of the most brilliant people I know. I expect in her prime an argument could be made that my mother was on a genius spectrum - if there is such a thing. I’m not an expert on intelligence classifications, but at the very least, mom was a fiercely independent, wildly talented, intelligent, and progressive women of her time. Unfortunately, high intelligence comes at a cost for those who are gifted with it, as well as the people who love them, and our family was not spared. Mom took on parenthood much like she took on many aspects of life. She assumed she would be a highly competent parent and my sister and I would turn out just fine regardless of events and circumstances that occurred in our life. Thus it didn't even register to our mother that either of us would be harmed by the choices she made in life; choices that placed us in vicarious and risky situations, choices that resulted in times with little supervision or worse yet - supervision by people who shouldn't be left alone with young children.
Throughout our childhood, my sister and I experience harm as a result of our mother’s inability to identify the potential risks from people, places, and things. Being three years apart, this presented itself in different ways for each other, and we responded in different ways. For my sister, she was protective of me, cautious in life, and distrustful of people - mostly men. Much like the show I watched as a kid, I responded to our lifestyle with characteristics much different from may sister. The best I can describe what I recall about it is a pendulum of inappropriate behavior. As I young child I was socially awkward with kids my own age and I would often shut down inside my head. In childhood pictures, it looks a bit like I’m emotionless - no smile or frown, just a blank stare off into some unseen world. I vaguely remember times watching TV and being able to completely block out all senses of my surroundings - the house could be on fire and I would be blissfully unaware. When I was about 13 I decided it was up to me to go out and find what I needed, and in my adolescent mind, what I needed was love. There are dangers out there for a 13-year-old girl out in the world looking for love with little supervision or guidance. Suffice it to say, I followed my mother’s footsteps in finding ways to place myself in harms way. Throughout my teenage years I experienced a lot of the good a bad from life. It was a crazy time for me but despite my wild and risky behavior I eventually reached adulthood with much less harm than one might expect. You could say my mother was right about one thing, my sister and I did turn out ok - traumatized, and needed therapy - yes on all accounts. We both have our struggles - doesn’t everyone; part of being human? - but we’re doing pretty damn well considering.
The show One Day at a Time was on the air from 1975 - 1984. I don’t remember much about how they ended the show, but for my own family of three…. Well, we went on with life as people do. For us, we all went our separate ways but stayed together as much as any dysfunctional family of humans do. As for me, I did turn out all right, just as my mother predicted. I raised two daughters of my own and tried to keep them out of harms way as they developed. I too did the best I could with what I had and who I was, and I hope my children find peace with who they are and the life they live. Regarding my mother and her motherly shortcomings - well time on the couch of a therapist, and working through a twelve step program eventually brought me to a place where I can forgive her for what she was/is not, and love her for what and who she is.
A few years back, we met at a local breakfast joint and over a cup of bitter restaurant coffee talked over things of the past. I swallowed my fear and asked her pointed questions about what went through her head during a time of my youth where events caused lasting harm. And there in an old style pancake house we connected on an unusually deeper level than either of us is accustomed to. We didn’t talk for a particularly long time, but in the end she looked at me told me how she feels now. She described not having a right to expect anything from me, but is thankful for any level of relationship I want to have with her. In that moment, a vale lifted from my heart and I felt compassion and empathy for this woman who simply did the best that she could.