Me and My Mom

There is a moment of truth in every one's life. This particular one has come to me at a time of change. A time of coming into my own as a person. Leaving the childhood of education behind and becoming an adult. And, in at least one way, becoming my mother. The epiphany occurred as follows:

A couple of weeks ago, a seventh grader wandered into my classroom for a chat. My own fifth and sixth graders were at a special (music, gym, art, etc.). After a few minutes of conversation, she complained of a sore, aching throat that had plagued her all day. Excited to be prepared for such an event, I stopped her from leaving and reached for my purse - I had cough drops! I was prepared for her malady and had the cure! This is unusual for me. But right in the midst of my elation, my mind collided with an unmovable thought - "I'm becoming my mother."

You know, the woman who carries everything except for the kitchen sink in her purse. Who you need only state your need to and she supplies it. I'm morphing from my old irresponsible self into a more alert, prepared being who's very preparedness led us as children to assume she either had eyes in the back of her head or was from outer space and had extra-sensory perception only dreamed of by humans.

So there I was, trapped by the reality that might shape the remainder of my existence - turning into my mother. And further perusal of my purse only confirmed it! First of all, the purse itself was no longer cute and small but instead the size of an overnight bag. The contents? A first-aid kit, an umbrella, mace, a planner, a Tide pen, a flashlight, comb, hairspray, hair creme, more pens than necessary - the list could go on but won't. And right now, you're laughing at me, because you - twenty or thirty something woman - could look into your purse right now and discover many of the same things. So you laugh at me for my overreaction. You laugh because you have not yet reached this moment of truth:

You have become your mother.