The relationship between a mother and daughter can be tricky. Some moms try too hard to be their daughter’s best friend and forget to be their mom. Some moms are too much of a mom and neglect to be a friend from time to time. There is a small percentage of moms that get it just right. They make it to the child’s adulthood virtually unscathed by the teen years and experiencing little to no resentment from their daughter.
This is not the relationship I have with my mother. Let me tell you why.
I think that some mothers secretly hate their daughters…..ok maybe hate is too strong a word. I am quite sure that my mother loves me. She tells me often and lets me know in various ways. But somewhere, deep, deep down, I am convinced that part of her motherly love was thinly veiled hostility for the child that kept her up at night, colored on her walls and did a somersault on her bed, subsequently kicking a hole in the wood paneling in her bedroom.
So why on earth would I make such a claim? The evidence is in the hair, my friends.
My mother fancies herself a stylist. As a child (ages newborn to 18), I recall less than a handful of times that I went to an actual salon to get my hair cut. Rather than spend the money, my mother would slap a piece of white tape across my forehead to create a guideline for cutting my bangs. There was not a single instance in which she successfully utilized this technique. Then there were the perms, the highlights, the Dorothy Hamill that wasn’t quite right (in addition to being horribly outdated and NOT requested by me).
Here is a selection from the evidence file:
And I have saved the best for last. I present you with the Atomic Mullet!
It’s like a mullet with a mushroom cloud. Clearly my mother hated me a lot in the teen years. I have a theory. I truly believe that these hairdo’s were my mother’s passive aggressive way of getting back at me for every dumb kid-type thing I did. I feel very confident in this claim because my brother screwed up even more than I did. That poor kid had a bowl cut for the better part of 15 years. She even nipped of the tip of his ear once. Mom will claim it was an accident – but neither of us are buying it. Thank goodness I was a pretty good kid. I might have ended up with a van Gogh.
So if you ever wonder how a mother truly feels about her child, take a look at the kid’s hair.