Recently my wonderful and beloved mother made a comment. She
had heard of a family tradition another family had around Christmas. She
apologized that she had never done anything ‘creative’ like that. Then she said
“I guess I can only be me.”
I can easily dispute the first part of her comment. We may
not have had that same family tradition as the other family but my mother has
always encouraged creativity. She baked with us. Bread, cookies, dinners. I was
cooking by myself in grade school. Every Christmas-eve morning we made
Christmas tarts as a family. As a parent I can’t imagine it was pleasant or fun
for my mom and dad as we all ran around hopped up on sugar and adrenaline and
‘helped’ them.
She taught us to sew. Crochet, knitting, tatting, cross stitch and quilting. I designed and made my own outfit and wore it to church
when I was 10. All because she taught and encouraged me.
We always had papers, crayons, pencils, and even markers and
paint, which I won’t let my kids touch, with which to draw and write. Every
Halloween our masterpieces of haunted houses and spooky cats hung all over the
house. Not only did she encourage it, she celebrated it. She let us find our
own talents, our own preferences, then let us loose to do our own thing.
Regarding the second part, in her infinite wisdom, my mom
got down to what was most important. We can only be ourselves. It’s so easy for
us to compare to others. I had hoped I’d grow out of it someday but it appears
we may always be doing it. The thing is, I can’t imagine my mother being
different. There’s no way she could be better, and if she had been different, I
would be different.
Like my mom, I, too, need to accept that I can only be me,
and be happy about that. Stop worrying that I’m not enough, that I should be
doing more, different.
Because all I can be is me, and that is plenty good.
