Commenting on the last post, De mentioned her own mother’s “God given right” to pass judgement. I’ve been considering it and how it relates to many of us. It’s a vicious pattern passed down from generation to generation. I think the right to pass judgment is closely related to fear that “my children’s behavior will reflect poorly upon my abilities as a parent”; sort of a transfer of responsibility. Mothers are often concerned about how others will judge them or their parenting capability. Their concerns are relevant when you regard society as a stampede of lemmings. Each following the misguided direction of his predecessor until there is a cascade of bodies descending over the cliff into the sea.

This “reverse” judgement affects mothers and fathers alike. My husband has concealed the transgressions of his offspring, both in their youth and adulthood. Initially I thought he was protecting their bad decisions from the public domain. Saving them a little humiliation as it were. Now I wonder what his true intentions were. Was it an effort to protect his children, or an effort to protect his own reputation? Even after the young have flown from the nest, parents are not absolved of the responsibility of parenting. Had I been in his situation, I don’t know which approach I would have taken. I would not advertise their mistakes, but I wouldn’t deny the actions if questioned. As a wise woman once said, “Own your own shit.”

Having considered my own mother these past few days, I fear I may not have allowed her the fairness she deserved in the previous post. I didn’t embellish the “drama”, but I did omit a few points that would have aided in her defense. I strive to be many things, however unfair and over-dramatic aren’t on the list. My mother knows much about the person confined within this skin. We are not strangers and we’ve never been estranged. She mails me articles from newspapers and magazines about art exhibits and animal rescues, she finds looms at antique stores and sends them to me, and she calls to tell me stories about her cats. She knows me and for that I am lucky. So many parents go through life never knowing who their children really are, the shape of their hearts, or the strength of their character. We are connected by blood, and by heart yet incompatible on other emotional levels. (I hope I have explained myself better).

My Big Mama (my mother’s mother) is perhaps the most judgmental woman I have ever known. I adore her, because she is ballsy enough to get away with stuff like this and this, but I don’t think I had the strength to grow up in her household. When I consider her holding the scales of justice, I shudder and wonder how my own mother turned out to be as gentle as she was. As a kid, I remember feeling like I was a pawn for my grandparents. They wanted to know all about achievements, sports awards, honor roll, SAT scores, height and weight. They weren’t interested in growth or accomplishment.They wanted stats to compare the achievements of my mother’s children to my aunt’s children, and the sewing clubs children. It wasn’t an object of pride; it was an object of gloating. “Na Na Na Na Na, my kids are better parents than your kids. I was a better parent than you were. And I am a super awesome grandparent.

The cycle has been building up steam for centuries. Is it excusable? No, not really. It is understandable, but understandable isn’t justifiable. Childless, I am breaking the cycle, but my brother and sister, by the very nature of becoming parents, will see the cycle lives on. Hopefully with my niece’s and nephews’ generation the cycle will lose more power, just as it did in the transition from my grandmother to my mother.