This post is dedicated to all those out there that were not so happy with the parent(s) they were born to….
Life is not something that can be explained in concrete terms.
My husband and I were watching a Steve Wilko Episode yesterday – about a mother who purposely got her daughter hooked on heroin just so that she could pay her bills from the prostitution money that her daughter was able to bring in.
Listen…….I can’t argue the fact that this woman was in every sense a “bad” parent……but, the daughter was able to move on with her life by managing to get to a rehab program and stick to it and despite the hardships and temptations of heroin, this young girl was able to bring herself out of the black hole of addiction.
Does that make her mother a good mother?
The mother who pushed heroin on her daughter ended up giving birth to a great kid……better than most……shouldn’t the mother get credit?
Everyone will agree that the mother gets no credit for raising a smart girl.
Buit….why does everyone also agree that the mother should pay with her life for raising a child that isn’t as smart.
Parenting is a funny thing. If you suck at it…..you lose.
If you were great at it (in your opinion) you lose as well……because the credit goes to the child for the child’s own accomplishments.
Let me tell you about my life with my mother.
My mother was a child born to a set of holocaust survivors. My grandfather was a survivor of Aushwitz, one of the most deadly concentration camps in Germany, and my grandmother was a survivor of various work camps….not deadly, but grueling for any human being to have to live through.
I remember hearing a story that my grandfather and grandmother used to tell with pride…….they used to brag about how well disciplined my mother was…….if she would dare leave the house with her sweatshirt on backwards (which apparently she did occasionally), they would beat her for it.
And many other stories like this one.
I was the first born of my parents.
I am not going to discuss my father, because that is going to be a different post all together….but I want to discuss my mother.
I grew up being scared shitless of her. My brother and I used to hide when we would hear her bed creak – an indication that she was about to wake up and come and get us.