Sometimes there are no adequate words to describe the ignorance of others and the comments they make. “You have such a pretty face.” “She has a great personality.” I could go on, but I’ve heard them all about as many times as I can take without gagging. Who do you think you are, and what are you saying exactly?
It’s even more appalling when the person making these ignorant comments has no place to talk. Like the pot calling the kettle black – when ebony is clearly just another word for what exactly? My mother falls into that category. She is not a small woman – yet she talks about other people who “need to lose weight” like she shops at Petite Sophisticate. The worst part about it is that she says these things unapologetically – and frequently. I have never understood how she can justify making these types of hurtful and degrading comments; I’m not sure I ever will.
I have been working on myself and the way I see myself when I look in the mirror. I thought that I was making some decent progress – and yet one phone call or visit with my mother can set me back about a hundred paces. How can one person have such a powerful impact? I suppose I could spend the rest of my life in weekly talk therapy sessions and still never come to a conclusion that will bring me complete peace and serenity. I want her approval and that seems to be an impossible task. If I was a size 20, then I should be a size 14. If I reach that goal, then I should be a size 10. If I reach one benchmark, she raises the bar; it’s a no-win proposition for me.
So I have learned at least in part how to handle my mother, or at least I thought so. That is until my six year-old came home from a week-long visit with Grandma. He sat next to me last night and said,
“Mommy, did you eat too much sugar as a kid? Is that why you’re so big?”
“Sweetie, who told you that?”
“Grandma said that you ate too much sugar as a kid and that’s why you’re so big.”
I didn’t know there were so many shades of red that could flash through my brain in a nanosecond, and two words kept resounding in my brain: justifiable homicide. If I had a flying broomstick, you would have seen me on it – and then on the 11:00 news in handcuffs. (This is my alibi for later – kidding!) So I guess now I will have to be deprogramming my son after every visit to Grandma’s house. Fantastic!
There is something valuable that I learned from this scenario: I will begin educating my son on the truth that people come in all different shapes and sizes and that is perfectly acceptable – despite anything Grandma may say to the contrary. This is most definitely a lesson that is worth learning at any age (I’m still working on that myself) and then teaching to others as appropriate.
So while I would really like to strangle my mother, I’m not sure it’s worth sitting in a jail cell. Here’s a little song about some ladies who were braver than I:
Theme Song #4: The Cell Block Tango http://youtu.be/xqV7HOVOPLE
Flabulous regards,
Selina
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