My mom

Today is my mom's birthday and I just thought that in all the talking I do about my own parenting skills (or lack thereof) I rarely mention my own parents. My mom doesn't like me to talk about her - especially not publicly. I never understood why. She has a very interesting history. Her parents were taken from their native Poland to a Nazi labor camp during World War II. My mom was actually born in the camp before they escaped to Italy. They then moved to England where she grew up with her younger sister and two younger brothers. She had a really tough life and came to the States by herself when she was about 19. She worked as a nanny (how cliche!) and then met my dad. She had my sister when she was 25 and was told she had cervical cancer and couldn't have more kids. Ten months later, I was born and they immediately operated to make sure she didn't have any more children. My parents divorced when I was about 7 and my mom worked full-time, raised us, sent my sister and me to Catholic school and then onto college. Don't ask me how. My sister was a very good daughter. She was very smart and responsible. She got up on time, always did her homework, didn't disobey rules and helped around the house. Then there was me. Did you ever see that movie Twins with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito. Well, they attempted to make the perfect child (Arnold) and accidentally created some funky DNA and got an extra kid (DeVito). The perfect child was smart and kind and worldly and handsome and good-hearted and healthy and strong. The extra kid was not any of those things. He was a swindler, not good-looking, weak, mean.... you get the picture. So, that's kind of how I feel sometimes when I come my sister and me. I was the screw-up for sure. I did okay in school but never worked up to my potential. I dropped out of college when I was younger. I tried drugs. I smoked. I drank. I stayed out until all hours of the night. I used to cut up in school and get in trouble. I was always late. I was absent all the time and just forged my mom's signature on school notes. I got into fights. I shaved my head. I got a tattoo. I didn't really think about consequences. My mom used to always tell me she hoped some day I had a daughter who was just like me so I knew what it was like to be treated that way. She got her wish (and then some!) But, one thing I remember realizing when I was a kid was that I used to try soooo hard to impress my father but never really did anything special to impress my mom. I used to worry that my dad wouldn't make it to my special events or that he would miss me in the dance recital, but I didn't give a second thought to my mom. You know why? Because my mom was always there. No matter what I did or how bad I screwed up, she was always there. She was always proud of me and she always told me she loved me. That's her present to me.