Before my first daughter was born, I taught high school English in the inner city. Many of my students were bilingual, while their parents frequently spoke only Spanish. If I needed to have a conference with them, the child would attend to translate for both teacher and parents.  It recently struck me that such a situation gives the child a tremendous amount of power over the parent because if the child is the interpreter, the child has the choice of words and phrases to present to the parent. Although my mother and I both speak fluent English, we, too, are frequently in this same situation. When dealing with Social Security, I must speak with the officials, as well as prepare the paperwork. If I leave it to my mother to handle, she becomes very agitated and cannot complete the task.  Without her mood altering, antidepressant medication, my mother will sit and cry rather than deal with a potentially confrontational situation. At the same time, my two and five year olds will stand and scream into one another's faces to resolve a conflict rather than calmly decide who will first play with the toy of the moment. And as I move from one mothering scenario to the next, I am frequently irritated that I have been placed in this situation. I am not angry at, nor am I disappointed with, my mother. I am angry that her physical condition has caused a break in her mental status and metamorphosed her into a mother I never knew as a child. Or should I consider how my own perspective has changed?

As the mother of three daughters, I feel like I am the calm between the waves. I hope to pass along the belief that all women should be strong. All women should be independent. All women should never be afraid to admit when they need help -- from a man or a woman. I want my daughters to see the intrinsic value they each have simply because they are Kelsie, Natalie, and Renee. My oldest daughter struggles with the fact that her last name is different from everyone else in our house. I tell her my own story. I was born with one man's last name, traded it for my stepfather's name, took the last name of her father when we married, and now have yet a fourth man's last name. I explain to her how none of those surnames matter to me as much as my first name, Terri. When she is irritated by people who do not spell her first name correctly, I smile because I understand her frustration. And I encourage her to speak loudly and forcefully when she spells her name correctly for them. I want all three girls to take pride in their own accomplishments first before relying on what their family has achieved before them. Ironically, I want the same for my mother. I want her to be proud of herself as a woman -- not simply as my mother. And just as I do with my daughters, I take baby steps with my mother in an effort to guide her toward a higher sense of self-esteem.

mmo : august 2006