I love family stories. For example, books and movies that follow several
generations. I especially enjoy watching/reading the interaction between
mothers and daughters. The Disney movie Brave is a great example.
Anyone who’s ever had a young teen daughter knows exactly the dynamics at work
in this film. The eye rolling, the exasperated sighs, the backtalk. Mom losing
her temper then having regrets. The two of them each wanting the other to
understand. (Spoiler Alert. If you don’t want to know the end of the movie, don’t
read the end of this post.)
Now I would never encourage a girl to give her mother a
potion that changes her into a bear, but I’m sure my daughter wanted to. After
seeing the movie, my son-in-law says he’ll make sure his wife and daughter
watch the movie again in about six or seven years.
I didn’t go through that stage with my mother. Odd, I know.
With six younger siblings, I knew how hard Mom worked just to keep the house
clean, laundry done, and meals prepared. During my middle school/high school
years, Mom also finished the inside of our house. Dad and his brothers
built our house. Once the walls were up and floors down, Dad had other
priorities—like working two jobs to make ends meet. So city-girl Mom taught
herself how to lay tile—not the peel-and-stick kind, asphalt tile where you
spread a black tarry substance to make them stick. She learned to mud the seams
and nail holes, sand the drywall, and paint.
As the oldest, my job was to help Mom. Help with the
laundry, scrub the kitchen floor every Friday, change diapers, and feed babies.
Somewhere in my teen mind, I thought I had to take care of Mom. So smarting off
to her wasn’t part of my behavior. Well, maybe I did once then felt so much
regret I never did it again. Going through my daughter’s teen years while I was
in peri-menopause was a disaster waiting to happen. Too bad I waited to get
Xanax until my son hit sixteen.
In “Brave”, both Mom and Merida change. Merida has to teach
Mom (in bear form) how to survive and Mom has to depend on her to changer her
back. But as Mom becomes more bear, a frightened Merida works even harder to rescue her
mother. I love the end where Mom is more carefree and she and Merida become
friends.
Until Alzheimer’s stole Mom’s mind, she and I were friends.
That’s the hope I have with my daughter and that she has with hers.
I blog here on the 8th and 30th of each month and Mondays on
my own blogsite http://dianeburton.blogspot.com
