In another one of those vaguely alarming, cliché-riddled blog posts, I have to tell you that I'm becoming more and more like my mother every day.
Today's illustration of this slow, lifelong metamorphosis comes via a trip to Barnes & Noble, where a very distressed middle aged woman interrupted my reading to ask for help writing a letter to her incarcerated niece.
There was a brief out-of-body experience as I stood there, listening to the horrors that had befallen this family. I watched myself shoulder my handbag, murmur "how horrifying" when prompted and cover my mouth at the shock of it all (and really, it wasn't shocking, it was just depressing -- another boyfriend shaking another baby to death). I listened to myself dictate a few simple sentences. I watched myself give up the name of the only public defender I know, and I realized I had just had my passport stamped for Iammymomonia.
This happens all the time to my mom. She'll be going about her day, and some random, downtrodden person will corner her with a tale of woe, and my mother -- being the kind hearted person she is -- will dole out advice and sympathy for as long as it takes, or until Dad extracts her from the scene. This has happened to her for years. I think it's because my mother has a very sympathetic, gentle face, one which exudes a particular warmth of character that seems so lacking in this world.
And now I made her sound like she's radioactive. I am an awesome daughter.
It's not that this was the first time I've had a stranger talk to me, it's just that I tend to bring out the latent asshole in your average Johnny on the Spot. "That's a gay little car you drive," or "You'd be kind of pretty if you lost some weight," or from earlier today, "What kind of meanhearted person doesn't give a dollar to little babies?" (because I declined adding a buck to my total at Walgreens for whatever children's charity they were peddling today). And usually, I can be counted to be an ass right back -- tell me, did you lovingly fondle the Bumpernutz before you installed them? -- but when this woman started pouring out her heart, I couldn't bring myself to be a stone-cold bitch. I stood there, I listened, I offered suggestions and sympathy until Adam came to hook me away.
"Don't turn into your mother," he scolded.
Too late.
And really, I can't say it's a bad way to be.
Today's illustration of this slow, lifelong metamorphosis comes via a trip to Barnes & Noble, where a very distressed middle aged woman interrupted my reading to ask for help writing a letter to her incarcerated niece.
There was a brief out-of-body experience as I stood there, listening to the horrors that had befallen this family. I watched myself shoulder my handbag, murmur "how horrifying" when prompted and cover my mouth at the shock of it all (and really, it wasn't shocking, it was just depressing -- another boyfriend shaking another baby to death). I listened to myself dictate a few simple sentences. I watched myself give up the name of the only public defender I know, and I realized I had just had my passport stamped for Iammymomonia.
This happens all the time to my mom. She'll be going about her day, and some random, downtrodden person will corner her with a tale of woe, and my mother -- being the kind hearted person she is -- will dole out advice and sympathy for as long as it takes, or until Dad extracts her from the scene. This has happened to her for years. I think it's because my mother has a very sympathetic, gentle face, one which exudes a particular warmth of character that seems so lacking in this world.
And now I made her sound like she's radioactive. I am an awesome daughter.
It's not that this was the first time I've had a stranger talk to me, it's just that I tend to bring out the latent asshole in your average Johnny on the Spot. "That's a gay little car you drive," or "You'd be kind of pretty if you lost some weight," or from earlier today, "What kind of meanhearted person doesn't give a dollar to little babies?" (because I declined adding a buck to my total at Walgreens for whatever children's charity they were peddling today). And usually, I can be counted to be an ass right back -- tell me, did you lovingly fondle the Bumpernutz before you installed them? -- but when this woman started pouring out her heart, I couldn't bring myself to be a stone-cold bitch. I stood there, I listened, I offered suggestions and sympathy until Adam came to hook me away.
"Don't turn into your mother," he scolded.
Too late.
And really, I can't say it's a bad way to be.
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