One of the best things about getting older is being able to talk to your parents as if you’re almost equals. I say almost because if I slip up and swear or say something inappropriate then I can still get grounded. But almost equals is better than them calling each other “mommy” and “daddy” and having to tell me that there comes a point in life where you can’t wear gaudy, flowery, spandex bike shorts out in public anymore.
As a kid, I always saw myself as a miniature of my dad, which I have admitted to being, but found myself believing that my mom and I were completely the opposite. However, now that I’m older and a bit more self aware and a bit less self centered (a bit, not a lot), I have come to realize that we’re more alike that I ever could have imagined.
We both have ongoing story lines in our heads to get to sleep, often involving attractive movie stars sweeping us off our feet. When we were young, these story lines often included several older brothers, for reasons we don’t really understand. We are both perfectionists and neurotic and control freaks, and we don’t like admitting we’re wrong. (Well, that’s because we usually aren’t) We both like relaxing after a long day with bad chick flicks, adventure books, and Jason Mraz. We have the same snarky, sarcastic sense of humor and aren’t afraid to cry during movies.
Getting to know my mom on a deeper level these past two or three years has been amazing. She’s taught me that I can still be feminine while also being a tomboy, and that no boy is ever worth giving up myself. She’s taught me to trust, to love, and to hope. She has always been there for me, even though sometimes I was too bullheaded to go to her at first. Although I will always blame her for the neurotic gene and the short gene, I could have never asked for a more amazing mom.
