Lessons I Learned from My Mother

iUniverse, Inc.

Chapter One

I was an accident. I guess the more politically correct term is "unplanned." My mother was young and not ready to start a family, but like so many young women in love, things happen. Abortion wasn't legal, but was attainable. Despite changing social mores and a shifting culture toward personal freedom and choice, when presented with the option of an abortion, my mother refused. Despite whatever precautions we may take in life, sometimes actions lead to unintended consequences, but those consequences are your responsibility nonetheless. My mother has never spoken these exact words to me, but she taught me this lesson in so many ways by her words and deeds, and continues to live by this philosophy to this day. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Life lesson number one from my mother is "you didn't come with a manual."

If I had a dollar for every time I heard my mother say "you didn't come with a manual," or the later derivative, "I've done the best I can, but parenthood doesn't come with an instruction manual," I'd be a rich man. I know this is not an earth-shattering revelation, and my mother certainly didn't invent this phrase. I'm sure many people of my generation, and generations before, have heard or felt this. This may not be as true for the Millennial generation and the emerging post-Millennials now populating our educational system since the self-help industry exploded, producing more "how to" and "this and that for dummies" manuals than are probably healthy for society. I'm sure even the tail end of my generation, as I've been labeled "Gen X," experienced the post-Dr. Spock explosion of shifting opinions on the "right" way to raise your children. My childhood slipped by before the "Baby on Board" phenomenon forced us all to feel obligated to protect children to the point of creating protective bubbles around them, and thank goodness because I need my immune system fully developed and functional, not sanitized and encapsulated in a hermetically sealed and manufactured environment.

As children, we seek out our parents and other elders for answers to the never-ending questions we have about life and our world. It was a bit disheartening to learn that my mother didn't have all the answers. My friends' parents seemed to have the answers to their questions, so why didn't my mother borrow their manual? Clearly I was defective and arrived in an incomplete package, so why didn't my mother return me, or refuse the delivery? Hold out until you get the complete model with the manual. Then she let me in on the secret—there is no manual. Nobody comes with one. Some parents may be highly educated, and some may be well-read, but no two models are alike and all those guidebooks can't translate into a perfect parenting strategy.

Don't get me wrong—there are definitely some wrong things parents can do. I've witnessed this time and time again both growing up and in my professional life. But there isn't one right way to raise a child, just a broad spectrum of options that may or may not work in any given situation. I fully own the fact that it is always easier for the couch-potato coach to spout off about how the real coach should be playing the game, so please know it is not my intention to turn this into a book on parenting. I have no children of my own, but I've played at times a significant part in raising thousands of other people's children in the past twenty years, so I feel somewhat qualified to at least reflect on what I see going on around me.

My primary purpose in this book is to reflect on what I learned from my mother, and how those lessons helped shape me into the person I am today. Along the way, I may throw in some of my own commentary, and I won't guarantee that my mother would agree with me. My mother is not perfect, and I am in no way trying to portray her in a saintly light (although she is quick to remind me that she scored a perfect 100 on the New York State Math Regents exam, where I only scored a 99).

We've had some really rough times throughout the years, and there were moments when I wondered if one or the other of us would make it through. However, she is an amazing woman, and for someone who experienced tremendous challenges and struggles throughout her life, she is incredibly optimistic and positively impacts more people's lives than she will ever know. I am yet to visit her even once and not meet someone who feels compelled to share with me how grateful they are to my mother. She doesn't deal well with these types of compliments and is probably mortified that I wrote this book. I hope by the end she will forgive me.

I'm pretty sure my mother would be equally embarrassed to know I talk about her—a lot. While of course she is the inspiration for this book, I've been prodded along for many years by my students and co-workers to write this book. As I share stories, ranging from funny to horrifying, of my life with my mother, people are sometimes shocked, but often impressed (more so impressed that she never killed me). In every class I have ever taught, as I brainstorm for examples to illuminate certain points in the text, my mind naturally wanders to lessons I have learned from my mother. They flow out of me as I lecture—I can't stop them.

Another "aha" moment I first experienced after going away to college and establishing what I felt was my independent sense of self, wholly separate and unique, was how much we really do reflect our parents. The first time a college friend met my mother, he said, "oh, now I understand you." I wasn't sure if that was an insult or a compliment, a commentary on me or on my mother. I pretty much let the comment go at the time, not really wanting to understand it. But as the years progressed and more opportunities arose for people who had only known me in my adult life to then later meet my mother, this exact sentiment repeated itself.

Through the years I've come to take this as a huge compliment, to both of us. I feel like I've turned out pretty well, so for people who hold me in high regard to reflect positively upon my mother makes me feel proud. Even as I describe the lessons I've learned from my mother, I know I've taught her a few along the way. Our symbiotic existence has made both of our lives better and hopefully emanated from each of us in ways that will leave our respective worlds a bit better than we found them. This is my sincere wish for everyone; to live a life in connection with others that generates positive outcomes, no matter how small or large. But I digress, as I tend to do.

So let's get back to that missing manual. I've learned two critical lessons from my mother's incessant use of this phrase. First, there is no roadmap to life, and nobody can tell you exactly what to expect or how to decide what actions are best in any given situation. Despite the best made plans and dreams, as life unfolds things happen beyond your control. Even the strongest desire and will cannot make every detail happen according to a perfect plan. I would give my sister a hard time when she would share her roadmap for the future, which included the age she would be when she got married, had each of her children, etc. I couldn't resist reminding her that there was a critical missing variable in her plans, another person, and even the shrewdest or most manipulative machinations could not guarantee that life would unfold as desired. It was not my desire to burst her bubble, but just create enough of a balanced perspective so she could focus on the things that were truly within her control.

Everyone can offer you opinions, and some may be very informed and valid, and others pure crap. You must rely on yourself to determine what you believe to be the appropriate course of action in any given situation, and then be prepared for the consequences. My mother always did what she believed was best in raising her children, and really in everything in life. Sometimes she got it wrong, but most of the time she got it right. And she was pretty humble and gracious along the way (much more than I have ever been). She was pretty good about explaining the reasons why she would do what she would do, and of course I was that kid who questioned everything.

She did her best to resist the easy response of, "because I said so," despite her obvious frustration when I would negotiate ad nauseam for my desired outcome. On a few rare occasions during the "bad years" I got a slap or two, but in retrospect had I been her I would have likely locked me in a cage and gone out drinking. Luckily I have dogs and can do that without getting arrested. She seldom invoked the "I'm the mother and that's why" stance, but also didn't devolve into a lengthy "let's process everything" approach, nor did she seek to be my friend in lieu of a mother. She gave me enough latitude to learn without prescription.

While there is no roadmap to life, that is no excuse for not planning. Even if nothing works out as intended, you'll get more accomplished with a plan than without one, understanding that you need sufficient flexibility to adjust the plan as you go. The art of adjusting the plan, and even one step further and making the unintended seem as though it all happened as it should, is a gift my mother passed along to me. For my mother, I think much of this was grounded in faith.

The second critical lesson is that, even though life comes without a manual, it is no excuse for not trying to gather all the information you can and create one as you go. My mother is highly supportive of education, through both formal and informal means. Despite what resources we did or did not have at our disposal, she would make any necessary personal sacrifice to ensure that my sister and I had the best opportunities possible. She didn't just give us whatever we wanted, and definitely made sure we understand the contributions we needed to make to our own success, but I'll get more into that later. I was also always impressed that my mother would support things she didn't always understand. As kids often do, we would become obsessed with one whim or another. The burden still fell to us to explain how our desired whim would be beneficial, but she would find ways to support the things that really mattered most to us.

I know it was never her intention to turn me into a geeky over-analytical researcher, but the signs were there pretty early on. My mother did her best to temper it, but I had the gift of persuasion and knew how to schmooze adults in ways that would impress them. I tended to communicate more freely and comfortably with adults rather than my peers. This would often lead to my mother's commentary about how if they all really knew what a handful I was they might think differently of me, but luckily they didn't and I had no intention of letting that cat out of the bag. I think she secretly admired that about me, though it made raising me much more difficult.

A perfect example of this is the time in elementary school when there was heightened awareness of peanut allergies in children, so the school created a policy banning peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I believe I was in the third grade. Every day I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I was not happy, and wasn't going to accept this. I smuggled in my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and in personal protest would sneak under the lunchroom table to eat. Naturally I got caught and was instructed to cease and desist. Not a chance.

I went to the library and researched the issue, and chatted with the school nurse to see how much of a problem this alleged peanut allergy situation was really causing in our specific elementary school (confidentiality laws weren't really enforced in the 70s). I then proceeded to the principal's office to have a discussion.

The woman in the front office wasn't quite sure what to make of this. She contacted my teacher, who informed her it was best to just let me see the principal since I wasn't likely to go away. After a lovely chat with the principal, and presenting my research and concerns, the principal agreed that maybe the policy was too hasty and restrictive, and agreed to change the policy back, allowing me to peacefully enjoy my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches once more in public.

The principal called my mother at work to let her know the problem had been resolved. My mother wasn't aware of the problem to begin with. Back in the day, teachers were naive enough to believe sending a note home with a kid ensured the parent would receive it. If I didn't like the content of the message, why cause undue stress for my mother by sharing the note? She would have been likely to forbid me to bring my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to school, and where would that have left me! I then would have had to sneak the sandwich both out of the house and in to the school, and that was more ruse than a third grader should have to endure.

The principal proceeded to inform my mother of how proud she should be. She had to stop him in his tracks and inquire who was running this school. As she relayed this story to me later, she asked the principal how a young child could march into his office and change school policy. She also informed him that he was creating a monster, and he didn't realize what she was going to have to put up with at home from me. While she was right, at the same time I know she was proud. Well, minimally impressed. As Mom and I processed my actions, she expressed the expected concern, but also incredible support. She reinforced the value of following your passion and maneuvering through the appropriate channels to enact change, after conducting the necessary research to support your desired change. Basically, you better know what you are saying and have thought out all the possible scenarios before you open your mouth.

True, I didn't come with a manual. Even if I had, it probably would have been obsolete by pre-school. In my early adulthood when I fully realized what a difficult child I was to raise, I would joke that my mother should write a manual for other parents facing similarly challenging children. While my mother never codified the manual, she has certainly passed along the wisdom to many frustrated parents struggling with difficult children, especially ill-mannered teens. She's even encouraged some really defeated parents at the end of their rope to talk with me. We've both shared lots of crazy stories, and helped others laugh and cry as they struggled through the confusing maze that is parenthood. Maybe this book can provide a rough draft for that manual.

Chapter Two

"I want, I want, I want ..." Oh the familiar whine, frequently heard from children, and sometimes heard from adolescents and adults. But, something interesting starts to happen as children grow into pre-teens: the use of the term "want" tends to shift to the use of the term "need." Somehow kids wise up and learn that a "need" sounds more important than a "want," and the more emphatic the insistence of the "need," the more likely they are to get their way. The challenge is that kids don't typically define need and want in the same way as adults, and the more I deal with parents of the Millennial generation, the more I find the lines between the two blurring even for the parents.

As far back as I can remember, my mother was pretty clear in making sure I understood the difference. She never read me any dictionary definitions of these terms, but let's take a look at Webster's for some insight. A need is "a physiological or psychological requirement for the well-being of an organism." A want is "a desire, a wish, or demand." So following these descriptions, it is safe to say we NEED food, shelter, safety, clothing, education, and maybe even some social interaction. However, we don't NEED gourmet food, a McMansion, haute couture, private tutors or academies, or a full-time security guard to monitor our every move and escort us to every activity in our lives (also known as over-protective or helicopter parents). Naturally needs may change over time, such as the level of need for care of an infant compared to the level of need for care for an adolescent or young adult.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Lessons I Learned from My Motherby MICHAEL L. SANSEVIRO Copyright © 2011 by Dr. Michael L. Sanseviro. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.