In Reply to: Overcompensating posted by Laura on September 30, 2003 at 03:57:50:
I wrote this around 1993 - I had only been out of the F. for barely 3 years. My daughter was about 13 at this time, and my first oldest daughter to enter teen years. It was terrifying for me, being fresh out of the F. and that overprotection idea we had. So i wrote this - a little dated, but you'll get the idea:
THE GENERATION GAP
"When I was 13 yrs. old, I was sure the "Generation Gap" was unique only to my generation. I never imagined myself with a 13-year-old daughter doing to me what I once did to my mother. Now it seems hard to realize that I am a mother with teenage children who test me to the limit and keep me awake at night with worry.
It startles me a bit when I see my young daughter bounce through the door wearing tacky cut-off jeans and the latest in "matching" footwear and pony-tail holders. I find myself wondering if this is really my life. Have I really grownup and had all these children? When I was young, I was sure I'd never have children. When I did, I believed I would keep them on the straight-and-narrow road to model citizenship. However, my daughter has deviated from my plan. To my horror, she has become an individual and wastes no time or feelings to make this clear to me or anyone who wishes to keep her in some other mold. She's more a mirror of me at that age then I care to remember. Headstrong, somewhat obstinate, and running in the fast lane.
In my opinion, she's gone off the deep end. In her opinion, she's just being her normal self. None of the "wisdom" drawn from my own experiences manages to move her. The lessons I learned which are so valuable to me - and which I was sure she would treasure - are cast off like cumbersome old baggage. This was not supposed to happen. In my plan, she was supposed to take the road to "preppieville," at the top of her class in everything, excelling in all sports, being voted Miss Popular, collecting offers for college scholarships, and, of course, wasting no time on this generation's foolishness. But, in her plan, this is major snobsville and totally boring.
Instead of a demure young lady busy going to the library, I turn to see my daughter emptying a can of hair spray on carefully molded bangs and curls. The smell permeates the rest of the household, and my environmentalist self secretly weeps for the earth's atmosphere. Shouldn't she be out campaigning for the humpback whale or some other noble cause? Couldn't these hours on the phone be used making calls, raising the level of awareness of the general public on some important issue? Surely she could find more important things to do with her time.
It dawns on me that being a mother is tough, and it took me this long to really appreciate my own mother and what she must have gone through. It's almost impossible to say it, but now I know how my mother felt. She told me I'd understand when I had my own children, but I didn't believe her. Dear Mom, you were right!
But, the similarities do not end there. "Rap" music is to me what the Rolling Stones were to my mother. When I complain to my daughter how loud and tuneless the music blaring from her radio is, an eerie feeling grips me as I hear my mother's own words echo in my mind. "Jungle music," she'd say! It’s shocking to think I almost repeated my mother's words verbatim.
It's ironic to hear my teenagers criticize 60s rock and roll music which has now become the music of the over 40s bracket. What? The music my mother hated? Mario Lanza was (and still is) her heart throb, she never could get used to the "Doors." I guess that means I'll never get used to Snoop Doggy Dog! Suddenly, my daughter races through the kitchen startling me and interrupting my thoughts. "Mom, can you give us a ride to the mall?" she impatiently asks, oblivious to the fact that dinner is cooking and I'm right in the middle of it.
I try to be stoic and tough, but the pony tails bouncing and exuberant animation break down the defenses and next thing I know, I'm on my way to the mall." Acheick (C) 1993
At that time I tormented my poor daughter. I have since learned that it is better to give a little bit of leeway than to be overprotective. I ended up with a better relationship with my children that way. They learned to be more responsible for their own actions.