Vicariously living a good childhood at 60

My sister and I had a good heart-to-heart talk with my mom yesterday. She told us about her messed up childhood and how she thinks it has affected the decisions she has made throughout her messed up life. In the end, it's all horrid stuff that is not my story to share. As such, let's just stick to the more universal aspects of her story...

Generation gaps. They amaze me.

Generation 1: My grandparents
My grandparents were dirt poor. I'm sure that they struggled a lot with wondering how they were going to pay the bills, let alone heat the house, let alone feed EIGHT kids. When my grandma found out that she was pregnant with her 7th (and then 8th) she melted down and trembled with fear for telling Grandpa, who in turn got very angry. There was no joy in the news. In fact, there was no joy in their lives. My mom looks at her mom now and sees an old lonely woman who has missed out on so much in her life because she has never allowed herself a moment of joy. Perhaps she just couldn't afford to. Perhaps it was just the way that generation was.

Generation 2: My mother
My mother went through a lot in her childhood. Some of it was just plain sick and disturbing, but she used to (and perhaps still does) attribute it to her parents never being there to protect her. Perhaps that was just the way it was done back then. My mom has no, I repeat NO, happy memories of her childhood. Instead she shared heartbreaking stories of how she feared for her life and yet feared the wrathe of her father even more. She learned to just not tell her father. If she did tell him, he would either decide she was making stuff up and punish her for it or he would punish her saying "I'll give you something real to cry about." There was no soothing of her fears. There was no embracing, telling her it would all be ok. There were no hugs saying that they loved her and were proud of her.

Some of her stories of how her parents weren't around to protect her started way back when she was 3 years old. When I hear about what she had to endure (and I'm not even talking about the bad stuff), I can not imagine how scared and alone she must have always felt. The family of eight kids practically had to raise themselves. They couldn't go to their dad for support or protection because his punishment was more feared. And they couldn't expect their mom to help them - she tried it once and never again.

Generation 3: Me and my siblings
My mom quickly learned that she did not want to raise us the way she was raised. The amount of strength and courage this must have taken is absolutely astonishing. It's much easier said than done because if you don't raise your kids the way you were raised, then how do you know the alternative options? My mom used to sit on her hands so that she forced herself to not be able to spank us or slap us if she was upset. I remember her sitting on her hands throughout my childhood. I never knew why. My mom is not a perfect mother, but when I compare the way she was raised to the way she raised us, I have a lot of respect for her. The self-help books that we made fun of her for - they all make sense to me. She couldn't read them fast enough and always felt like she was only one step in front of us.

In many regards my mom raised us by herself. Technically speaking, that's not true, but she certainly didn't have any true partnership. She did not enjoy parenting but she felt obligated to it and felt strongly that she needed to shelter us so that we could have a better life.

I look at how I turned out and I compare it to my mom. She married her first husband after having known him for a week because she was absolutely convinced that it was her only chance to have someone willing to marry her. She was slapped when she told her dad she wanted to be an engineer, and though I even experienced a similar reaction from Grandpa, I had enough support from others in my life. She says she was almost 30 years old when she got her first hug from her father.

I don't know how she bridged that gap so well but I have always been so incredibly thankful for how drastically different my life was from hers, regardless of a few unavoidable similarities. Somehow a woman who has never had any self confidence was able to raise a daughter (perhaps two, but I can't speak for my sister) who has always been very self confident. I have always believed in myself because my mom believed in me. She never had that.

Generation 4: My daughters
When my mom spoke of some of her earliest memories I couldn't help but imagine my daughters in those situations. Mom's earliest memories were from when she was 3 years old, younger than my Ellie. I think more than anything else, that's the stuff that affected me the most. The horrible stuff I was able to be numb about (how can you not) but picturing my daughter having to go through the experiences my mom went through without any feeling of protection or love from your parents... that's when the tears would flow for me.

My mom says there is no better anti-depressent than spending time with my daughters. She says that she's always at awe with them and their lives. She finds herself staring at them realizing that this is the way children SHOULD be. They're allowed to run and laugh without their parents thinking they don't have enough work to do. They're allowed to giggle without being told they must be up to no good. They're given hugs and know that they are loved. Very much loved. They're comforted when they fall and hurt themselves or if they're terrified of something. If they tell us something of importance, we believe them instead of punishing them for making up stories.

It must be weird for my mom to watch them and wonder what her life would have been like if she had a childhood like the one they do. For me, it's heart breaking to think of my girls going through even a portion of the stuff my mom did.

What my children will grow up to think is "normal" is a complete 180 from what my mom thought was "normal" and a nice side effect of this is the fact that there are many more laughs going around.

It's heartbreaking for me to think about all that my grandparents missed out on and how miserable their lives must have been in order to raise their kids as miserable as they were raised.

I know it's a generational thing but I still can't understand it.