Mother’s Day Special.
I am not designed to be a good mother. I guess, I never would be, because I’m not the sort of mother who would coddle her child all the time, and sacrifice everything and ditch my life to be with my child 24/7 just because I cannot get a hang on separation anxiety.
I have been told many times that I could appear heartless and somewhat cruel when it comes to raising my own flesh and blood, and I have never portrayed myself as a good mother. They call me all sort of things, and I distantly hear from people that I don’t know how to take care of my own child. (Oh…I think some people needs to look at themselves in the mirror. You judge me in 10 or 15 more years, all right? If my brat didn’t end up smoking, playing truant and mixing with some school gangster by the age of 15, that would mean you are the bad mum, not me, cuz unlike you, I actually manage to stop mine from turning into some bad shit and needs some knock on the head by someone else when he’s older.)
Anyway, I think some people are right about me. Absolutely right. I’m not a good mother in many ways. Because I’m not the kind of typical mother who would help her kid to stand up when he fall and scrape his knees, even when he begged me to help him up. I wouldn’t offer comfort. No. Would never offer him comfort and tell him I’ll always be there for him each time he fall, because it’s a blatant lie.
I would do nothing of that sort. When a child fell down, I would tell him to get up on his own because I wouldn’t be around forever to help him back on his feet each and every time he falls. But of course, I will applaud his effort and his success when he managed to stand up on his own and tell him how proud I am to see him do that on his own.
The child in question, might hate me for this, but he will thank me for it some day, because by not being a good mother along the way, I taught him something valuable, that one ought to stand up on his own each time they fall, because not everyone would help them and be there for them when they fall. Falling down is a part of growing up, and growing old. People don’t just fall down when they’re young. People stumble every now and then til they breathe their last. A child need to be taught the value of staying strong and persevere through life’s challenges.
I am also, not the kind of mother who would tackle things delicately. If a child ask me where do babies come from or how babies are born, they would probably regret it. I wouldn’t be explaining about it with the metaphor or birds and the bees or even storks carrying babies in their beaks, but I’ll let the child in question watch Cesarean section being performed instead. That ought to shut them up til they are old enough to understand what sex is all about and how babies are made. My dad did that to me when I was 5. And I was horrified enough to never ask him again about it ever again. After that I discovered the wonderful world of Harlequin and Mills and Boon it explained sex and intimacies to me when I was 12. Nature takes it’s course, I supposed.
I’ll never be a perfect and wonderful mother who lock their children’s mind and body in an invincible tower like what the evil witch did to Rapunzel. Or keep what could harm their body and mind away from them like what Sleeping Beauty mum and dad did just because I thought the world is a bad place or a spinning wheel could prick the child to death. Children needs to be exposed or told what’s dangerous for them so that they could learn how to handle certain issues properly. Children needs to see that the world is not a perfect place where everything would go their ways. If a child I kept in his own sweet little world where everything is perfectly prepared for them, how could they know, that the world is a nasty place? Gosh, maybe I’m wrong. I didn;t protect my child like typical mothers did. Perhaps I should just lock up my brat in some stupid tower and wait for some ding-a-ling smoochey smoochey princess to save him and free him from the tower so that I could be the goodie goodie and the in and popular mum? *snort* Nah, maybe not. That’s not me. Not hypocrite enough to pretend that I’m such an angel when I’m not.
I’m also, a badass of a mum. When I still had all the time in the world back then, I used to bring my brat to the orphanage back where they also cater all sort of children from all sort of background, just so that I could let my brat see how fortunate he is to have meals on his table and a roof over his head. I showed him reality, and taught him not to scorn those who were not as blessed as he is.
I taught him not to discriminate those who are less fortunate than him. Oh yes. I am a bad mum, cuz I let him mingle with ‘troubled’ children. And yeah, not to mention the gross thing I did to my brat when he was disgusted with disabled children with no leg. I told him, God could easily take his legs away from him, and instead of shying away from people who are less fortunate, he ought to learn to treasure what he have and use his legs for good before God decided that he is unfit for it and take it away from him.
Oh, yes… I’ll never be the Mother of the Year material. I am not designed for that. But for what it’s worth, I think I’m somewhat an OK teacher. I’m not hypocrite enough to adopt that as a profession and yet scorned the children for not being a perfect being. I just accept them for who they are, and what they are not though sometimes, I can be such a harsh task master.
Cleffairy: I am evil. Who in the Hell told you that I am sweet and kind? They are sorely mistaken. By the time I turn good, that would mean the world has come to an end. And by the way, only with darkness… lights will shine.
