It shames me to admit that I was a difficult teenager. As in, VERY difficult.
You know how that time of life can be- you’re in a bad mood for no apparent reason, slamming doors and being extremely anti-social.
|Don't laugh. Camouflage was IN back then.|
And usually it’s our mothers who bear the brunt of it.
I remember feeling that all my mother wanted to do was curtail my fun and happiness. Deep down, I knew she had my best interests at heart. Not that I would ever have admitted it at the time!
So here I am, all grown up - well, almost!-, cringing inside every time I remember that surly teenager because my mother is the best friend I could ever wish for. Now that I’m all grown up we sit and talk and laugh for hours. As I’ve grown into adulthood, I realize that my mother and I are more alike than I ever imagined. The times we are together, which never seem long enough, there is always a lesson in it for me- whether it’s the best way to get the sap off your hands after peeling matooke, or how to figure out men and their complexities, I’m always amazed at how much more I still have to learn from her.
She is my loudest cheerleader, honest even when it hurts, and she has the most incredible sense of humour- some of her wisecracks leave me in stitches. Did I mention that I believe I got my eclectic taste in music from her? A strong phenomenal woman in every way, my Dad, my siblings and I live by the love she gives us.
I love you Mummy. If I grow up to be even half the woman you are, I’ll hold my head high the rest of my life. xxx