The Most Important Lesson My Mother Taught Me

Halloween is, unfortunately, passed.  I don’t know how everyone else spent their Halloween, but I spent it having a hissy fit over not being able to wear the costume I had prepared. 

I ended up handing out candy dressed as “kid at sleepover”-I wore my pajamas with a bathrobe and slippers, with a blanket wrapped around me, possibly the laziest costume ever.  I didn’t even bother brushing my hair.

           

            Luckily, my niece had a better attitude than I did.  She decided to tell me a couple of great Halloween stories to brighten my mood.  Since these stories were just too good to keep to myself, I have decided to present them here, to you, as they were told to me by a four-year-old.  Enjoy.

Story #1: A Monster Story

        There were these kids who were camping. 

And this man...

This Man.

While the kids were asleep, he ate the manager. 

What the...

The kids were really scared and locked the door, and the monster was trying to get them. 

That is not going to help you.

Then superheroes showed up and saved them. 

Batman killed the monster, and the kids were safe.

This seems right.

Story #2: A Ghost Story

           There were these kids, and they went into a house…



These are not intelligent kids.



A haunted house. 

And the ghost was scaring them and coming after them. 



"Like, boo, and stuff."



They locked the door, but the ghost kept coming. 

How is this supposed to help?

Then the superheroes showed up, and Batman killed the ghost. 

This seems somewhat... less plausible.

The kids were happy and went home, and they were safe.

            Those were great scary stories, right?  I sure think so.  The truth is, I love a good scary story, and that’s what I love about the Halloween season: there are just so many great ghost stories floating around everywhere.  It breaks my heart a little that October is already over.

            Since we are now coming into November, it is time for us to start thinking about what we’re thankful for, rather than what we’re frightened of.  I’ve decided to encourage this sort of reflection by sharing what I am thankful for, which is the lessons my mother taught me about the relationships between men and women.

           

My mom always thought that it was important to teach us kids from a young age about self-respect and avoiding abusive relationships.  She wanted us to grow up to be strong, independent women with happy, healthy relationships.

           

            To accomplish this, my sisters and I sat through many Lifetime movies and Oprah specials dealing with the subject of abuse while my mother narrated.

"That's bad."

            The message we were supposed to take from these lessons was this:

            The message that I absorbed was this:

            Yes, I was under the impression that all adult relationships involved a man beating the stuffing out of a woman, and that there was no escape from this fate. 

"My stuffing!!!"

I became cynical towards romance, and wondered when my father would finally snap and start beating my mother.  Worried for her safety, I began devising a plan to kill my father when he started hurting her.  Not if.  When.  And I was close with my dad.

He would never see it coming.

           

I didn’t tell my parents until several years later that I’d ever had a plan to kill my dad.  My mom thought it was funny.  Dad’s reaction was a little different.

WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO THAT?!

           

As a little kid, though, I was deadly serious.  I was terrified of getting older and eventually getting married.  I was afraid to leave the house, in case Dad started beating Mom when I wasn’t around to enact my Operation: Murder Dad plan.  All of the fear and stress weighed heavily on me until one day, when my entire mentality shifted.

           

I was sick of being frightened of men.  I was sick of being afraid to fall in love and get married and have a family of my own.  I was sick of it.  So, I came up with what was, to me at the time, a revolutionary concept.  I was not going to tolerate abuse.  As simple as that.  I simply would not accept it.

           

And as we all know, the best defense is a good offense.

           

Yes, by trying to teach her daughters to avoid abuse, my mother had only succeeded in shaping a homicidal man-hating abuse machine.  I now faced the prospect of love and marriage much more charitably.  I imagined a life for myself; raising a family, picking apples, telling my children bedtime stories, and viciously beating my husband after the kids were in bed. 

Yes, my fantasy for adult life involved regular apple picking.  Yours didn't?

Not even if he did something that upset me.  Just to keep him in his place.

"It was you or me..."

           

I’ve grown up some since then, and now realize that a marriage can and should be a happy union between two people who love one another, in which both parties are equally respected, without violence involved on either side.  But I still remember fondly my defining moment in life, the moment I thought, to Hell with this.  I f***ing dare a man to hit me.  We’ll see if he wakes up the next morning because, honestly, I kind of think we should all teach our daughters how to seriously mess up a man if he ever hurts her, because it is never okay.

           

So, I dedicate this post to my mother, who taught me the most important lesson of all:

 To keep my man in line.