In what ways am I like my parents? In what ways do I hope I'm not like my parents?
My parents were very different people. In ways I am made up of parts of both of them, and in other ways I am nothing like either of them.
I have my father's patience. I am very slow to anger, but it is impressive when it does finally happen. And I may eventually forgive, but I do not forget what and who lit the fuse. This is good and bad. I always admired that he didn't resort to yelling and violence in the face of the same aimed at him. He chose the higher road so to speak. But I know while he seemed strong and immovable on the outside, he was bending and breaking on the inside. Toward the end of his life, I think he decided life was too short to be silent, and he found his voice in conflicts. Sometimes he may have been too harsh for the situation at hand. I think he was responding to 40 years of those situations all at once. I do not want that to happen to me. I do not want my spirit to be broken by emotional abuse. I try very hard to make my feelings known in a constructive and thoughtful manner and to push back if I am being treated poorly.
I inherited his love of exploration. He taught me to explore and learn through books, travel, conversation. My father kindled in me a fire of creativity and curiosity that has never waned. If financially feasible, I never pass up the chance to visit somewhere new and meet new people with different experiences than my own. My father always wanted to travel, but up until the point when he got sick, he was always working. He could never afford to take the time off work to be able to go to the places he read about. Then he was diagnosed with cancer and went through years of treatments and procedures. He was finally well and wanted to plan his first trip, and then he passed away. He never got to enjoy his retirement the way he'd always hoped he would. It's why I don't wait. If the opportunity comes up and we can swing it, we travel. We try new foods. We read new books. We experience everything we can.
My mother was a very passionate person. She rarely had a middle of the road opinion about anything. She loved it or hated it, and there was seldom and instance where anyone could change her mind once it was made up. In ways it was good because she was very persistently dogged in her determination to help when her help was offered. She fought long and hard for the people she cared about no matter what it was they needed. She gave a lot of people a voice who didn't have one. She fought for medical care. She fought for the senior folks she worked for to make sure they had proper assistance so they could stay in their own homes and for the most part on their own for as long as possible. She fought for the kids she saw being neglected. She taught me I had to stand up for myself because there may not always be someone around to do it for me. She taught me there is always someone else to ask, someone else to call, someone else to write a letter to until what needed to be done got done. No was rarely an acceptable answer when she had decided on a course of action. Her methods of fighting the fight were often not to my liking though. Whether she meant to or not, she bullied mercilessly to get her way. Physically, mentally, emotionally. If you misstepped and did something she didn't approve of, there was no getting away from consequences from her. There was no sharing of ideas. There was no discourse or compromise. There was not swaying of minds. I learned to melt into the background as much as possible to avoid notice so that I could exist as I was and not who she wanted me to be. It has taken many years to recover from that.
With all that passion, she was quick to anger but also quick to cool down. She would rage like a hurricane that you'd think would never end. But then once she was done, it was like it never happened. Quite literally, you could try and discuss with her five minutes after a yelling spree, and she would have no idea why you thought she might be angry. Done is done. Once the anger left her, it was like it never even happened. It was infuriating to me growing up. I wanted to discuss. I wanted to try and understand why she blew up at me about this or that. I wanted to try and understand her. I don't know if in her mind the anger really was done once she was finished yelling or if she just never wanted to let people get close enough to her to let them in. My mind and heart do not work that way, and I was never able to understand how she could be boiling mad one moment and happy the next.
My mother was very generous and selfless in many ways. She have of herself until she physically harmed herself by doing too much. She put everyone else's health and happiness above her own, and seeing to herself often got pushed to the side or forgotten altogether until something came up that she couldn't ignore. She took care of my grandfather when he was sick near the end of his life. She took care of my father through years of sickness near the end. If someone in the family needed something, she made sure they had it. She made all of the phone calls to arrange appointments and medication and education and whatever else needed to happen. She loaned money knowing she'd never get it back. Sometimes that was money they really needed to keep things going for themselves, but instead my parents sacrificed their own comfort and well-being to see someone else get taken care of. She knew everyone's birthdays and anniversaries and the names of all of their kids. She knew their families and friends and went out of her way to do nice little things to make their days happier. She taught me that someone out there is always having a worse day or is in a worse position than you are in. If you have extra money, time, etc. to give, give it without expecting anything in return.
I am a little ashamed to put it into words. Overall, I am many things my father taught me to be, and I am many things my mother taught me not to be. There were good and bad in both. No one is perfect. I love them both equally, and I learned so much from them both that I am grateful for. But in some instances the love is so intwined with personal pain that it's hard to untangle.
