Guisewite, Cathy - Fifty Things That Aren't My Fault by Guisewite Cathy

Author:Guisewite, Cathy [Guisewite, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

My daughter and I bonded deeply right from the start over all the things we discovered that we loved together—dogs, the park, playing dress-up, painting on the porch, baking, reading books, inventing stories, building castles out of blocks, sand, and cardboard boxes.

But we bonded just as deeply, or even more so, over things that seemed to come easily to others that were hard for her and then so hard for me. We were a team. Defiant survivors of her early childhood—playgroups she didn’t fit into, a school system not set up for how she could learn, activities where she felt lost or left out . . . testing, tutors . . . all those horrible looks from other mothers whose children didn’t melt down at the mall, bite the dentist, or have humiliating full-blown panic attacks every time they boarded an airplane. We got through all that . . . hauled her through the academics . . . then the nightmare of middle school girls, then the nightmare of high school boys . . .

I went into motherhood planning to be a serene, self-assured role model of accomplishment, sharing the strategies and tips that helped me be successful. A fount of wisdom. That’s what I planned.

My child wanted none of it.

Stories of my accomplishments only made my daughter, who struggled to do some of the most basic things, feel worse about herself. Tales of how good old-fashioned hard work easily led to me getting great grades and a wonderful career made her want to quit. She worked harder than lots of kids, and nothing came easily. My wisdom demoralized her. My perky tips made her angry.

My daughter wanted confessions. She wanted to hear about my failures, fears, embarrassments—the worse, the better. The more humiliating, the more reassuring.

Did you ever wear your shoes on the wrong foot?

Did you ever get called on in class and start crying in front of everyone?

Did you ever spell your own name wrong?

Did you ever sit down for lunch and have all the other girls get up and leave?

Did you ever spill a whole drink in your lap?

Things like that. Stories of how I froze with fear and couldn’t speak to the cute boy on the playground gave her hope. Stories of how I chatted with Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show did not.

I knew the power of commiseration from writing the comic strip for so long, but I wasn’t expecting it from motherhood. Also, the comic strip put a comfortable distance between me, the person, and her, the character in the newspaper. My daughter only wanted the me part. Specifics. Names and dates. Photos, if possible. How bad did you look? . . . Who really saw you and what did they really say? The more details I shared of times I’d blown it in life, the more inspired she seemed to be to try. The more open I was about when I’d been afraid and weak, the braver and stronger she got. The more honest I was with her, the more honest she was with me.

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