Becoming My Mother

Everyone dreads the day they become their parents. In the case of my mom, I always felt the opposite. I earnestly look forward to becoming more and more like my mother. If you met her for coffee for the first time you’d never realize the difficult life she has lived. She cares for you relentlessly, with a bright welcoming smile that instantly makes you feel at home. I long more than anything to give the people around me that feeling.

Usually, the main way my mom and her mother before her shows love is through acts of service. If you come into their homes prepare to be offered drinks, food, and multiple forms of entertainment. Their homes are always clean. My mom can never go to bed leaving dirty dishes in the sink. You might think this is overkill, but that’s nothing compared to my dad’s mother. Her house is always immaculate. However, she’ll act as if one small dish in the sink makes the whole house a mess. Kind of like how one unclean person makes a village unclean in ancient Jewish law.

Coming to live in an apartment with some of my friends gave me the perfect opportunity to tap into my inner mom friend. Every weekend I started making full meals and would invite all my friends for family dinners around the coffee table. Now the agreement I had with my roommates was that I would cook and they would wash dishes.

One evening early on in the semester, I was watching television after cooking and enjoying a nice dinner. As the time slipped on and it got later at night I began to feel an intense pressure to wash the dishes. The later it became, the more it seemed my roommates had no intention of doing it themselves. So I slid into the kitchen and got to work. A few moments later two of them came in and drug my out. It was at the moment as I was shoved out of the kitchen with soap still on my hands that I realized I had become my mother. And I smiled.