I struck up a conversation the other day with a woman over the drying bar at the local nail shop following a mani/pedi. I told her about my daughter, because even the threat of bodily harm can't keep me from talking about her, and how I had left a promising career to become a stay at home mom. I went on to tell her how my husband and I had left the city for the suburban life shortly before we were married three years ago because we wanted children and the challenges of having and raising a child in an urban setting were more than we wanted to deal with. I have several friends who are doing it and have been very happy with their decision, but it just wasn't for us. And how I love having a house with a yard and a driveway and a GARAGE! Anyone who's lived in the city will appreciate that sentiment. And not worrying about crime so much or how we're going to afford private school because the public schools are so bad.
So as I'm telling her all of this, and oh so much more, it occurs to me that this apple didn't fall far from the tree. As a kid, I used to watch in horror and embarrassment as my mom would tell her life story to anyone who would listen - other people in the check-out line, grocery checkers, gas station attendants, department store sales clerks, etc. I was mortified by this because I was certain that these people had absolutely no desire to listen to her anecdotes and at 13 my greatest desire was to de-emphasize any connection I had to my parents. Like pubescent children everywhere, I was WAY too cool to be spending time out with them. I suspect, however, that then, as now, people generally responded to her quite positively.
Now, I find myself talking to people on a regular basis, just the way she did. It seems that I've spent a good part of my life trying to distinguish myself from her big personality by being as different as possible and in the end I've wound up being more like her than I ever would have expected. Go figure.