Milepebbles

April A to Z Blog Challenge: Memories

My mom.

My mom lived a long life: 100 years.

As she talked or reminisce about her life, my mom tended to divide it in three major stages: she had to start working at an early age for her family business and how her older sisters treated her; she lived through the second world war in Italy; and her life after getting married and having children.

My mom sometimes talked about hearing the war sirens warning of hostile aircraft intrusion, and how scary it was. She also explained that when Mussolini was in power, she wanted to join some youth groups associated with his party because they provided a uniform with pencil skirt that she really liked. Just for that.

She enjoyed reminiscing on how she turned heads when she was young. I believe it, as I also heard that from friends of the family.

My mom began enjoying her life once she got married. I think when she lived with her parents and sisters, she felt she had four people bossing her around. She often mentioned how mean was one of her sisters who sometimes hit her.

I remember my mom teaching me that “bad words” were really bad. Even “stupid” was considered cussing in my mom’s opinion and therefore forbidden. When I began learning catechism, my mom used to remind me that if I said bad words, my guardian angel would let her know.😇 How unsettling, uh?

My mother and I had a very difficult relationship when I reached my teenage years: I wanted to do things she did not approve, and she did not approve of a whole lot of things. In my teens year, during summertime, my friends and I used to gather at a cafe` just around the corner from my house. You know, the ones with tables and chairs outside…. We all had mopeds, or motorcycles, so we set outside the cafe sitting on our bikes, just enjoying each other’s company. My mom thought that hanging out at a cafe` was not good. So, every once in a while, she used to come and look for me. I learned to put my vespa on its kickstand and facing the corner, while I sat on it to keep a look out for my mom. I just had to avoid the embarrassing confrontation if my mother reached me and began telling me to go home. And at the first sight of her turning the corner showing that scary face with furrowed brows, I started my vespa and zoomed out of sight yelling “ciao” to my friends. They all knew what was happening. 😀

My mom was strict and stubborn. But I was stubborn too. And rebellious. But I still loved her. I understood that she was trying to mold me into a copy of herself because that is what happened to her and she thought that was the right way. I don’t think my mom could envision herself being any other way. Or maybe she did not know how. And because of this, even though at times I was miserable, I think that the “struggle” made me reflect more about her thinking and mine and maybe this process made me stronger in my beliefs.

She wasn’t perfect, but she was my mom. The one who raised me, took care of me, the one who was so filled with her own childhood hurts that she tried to pass them my way. That mom, is the one I still love to this day.