Generation Gap

By Therese Guy

And thou shalt in thy daughter see, this picture, once, resembled thee.
~Ambrose Philips

I'm five and my mom is everything. She smells good, she makes me great things to eat and she washes my "blankey." She dries my tears and cleans my skinned knee.

I'm twelve and now she is embarrassing; how could she make me wear that dress?

All the kids laughed at me. A tear slides down my face as she intones, "Don't be such a drama queen."

I'm seventeen and all I can manage is an eyeball roll at her antiquated lectures. Tears flow in frustration -- she just doesn't understand me!

I'm twenty-one and she seems a little smarter now. I tell her that "things will be different with my kids; I will raise them right." Now she rolls her eyes at me with a slight smile playing across her face.

I'm twenty-four and as I hear my daughter's first cry, tears of joy run down both my face and my mother's.

I'm thirty and my daughter is six. "See Mom, how close my daughter and I are? I really think I understand you better now." There are tears in the corners of her eyes as she hugs me and whispers quietly in my ear, "Not yet honey, not yet."

I'm thirty-seven and my fourteen-year-old daughter yells at me for emerging from the car when I pick her up at the dance. She yelled, "How embarrassing, Mom." As I cried out my hurt feelings to my mom, she says to me, "You're getting closer, dear."

I'm forty and my seventeen-year-old knows all the answers and they seem to be eluding me. I cry because my mom is dying and I now realize her wisdom.

I'm forty-five and my daughter is off to war. I cannot protect her, and she makes her own decisions now. And Mom, if you can hear me, "I think I caught up and I love you and I'm so sorry!" Tears of sorrow for missing her mix with tears of joy at having had her as my mother.

My daughter calls from overseas. After an argument she tells me, "Things will be different; I will raise my children right!" Are my eyeballs rolling?

I'm fifty and my daughter is expecting. It is a girl. As I hold my hand against her protruding belly the baby kicks. My daughter smiles and says, "I think I understand you better now, Mom."

I smile and think, "You're getting closer, honey."

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