The T-Shirt I Never Got

Once upon a time, when I was the mother of a female teenager, I became fully aware that I didn't know anything, couldn't do anything right, and was abusive because of "rules".  If anything went wrong, it was my place to fix it, and if I didn't/couldn't, it was my fault--including when my child's relationship with her long-term boyfriend began to flag.  "Do something, Mom!"

On one occasion, dear darling daughter visited an area of Broad Ripple in Indianapolis that is kind of campy and eclectic.  She loved it.  She came home and announced that we needed to move there.  Broad Ripple was much farther away from my job and would add horribly to my commute to work.  Then there was the small issue of housing.  We hadn't lived in our little house-on-a-slab long enough to get much equity out of selling it, and where would we live in Broad Ripple?  I told her that moving to BR just wasn't possible.  She threw an emotional fit.  She told me that if I loved her, we'd move there.  And there were tears.  She was being unreasonable but accusing me of being the unreasonable one.

That's when I decided that, some day, I was going to have a t-shirt made especially for me.  The message on the front would say:  "Just so we understand each other, everything is ALL MY FAULT".  I mentioned it on Facebook years later.  Several people came to my defense, saying that I shouldn't take on guilt that way.  At least five others said, "Get me one, too!"  The ones who were defending my honor--God bless them all--didn't understand my sarcasm.  I wasn't really taking on the blame for things that went awry; I was trying to rip the rug of blame away from any possible argument.  If we admit that we are wrong in any given situation, the opposition has no reason to argue anymore.  It actually works!

I never had the t-shirt made.  Now, as my daughter is about to turn 40, and is the mother of teenagers, maybe I should--but for HER instead of me.  To bastardize an old Hallmark ad, guilt is the gift that keeps on giving.  Admitting our failures may make us vulnerable but also brings real communication.

Every book about parenting needs to have at least one chapter dedicated to this.  Maybe I should write it!  Not as an expert on parenthood but as a victim of it!