Recent conversations with friends, with my mother, and listening to podcasts have me thinking a lot about how different I am from my mother. I mean – totally different. Our personalities, the way we live, our emotional states, the way we think — just about everything is different.
Yet my mother was my only consistent parent. My dad disappeared from my life when I was 5. We lived for 10 years of chaos with my stepdad. Then my mom had another live-in boyfriend when I was 17-19. So there was often a man around. It’s strange writing this because if you had asked me I would have said I was raised by a single mom.
It occurred to me recently that the reason I am so different from my mother is because she didn’t raise me. I raised myself.
She worked. She paid for rent, food and some basic necessities.
But from the age of 5, I pretty much parented myself.
I did my own laundry. I cooked for myself. I got myself up and off to school. I took care of my homework, chores and responsibilities. I handled bullies on my own. I dealt with successes and failures, fear and happiness, friends and foes – by myself.
I was on my own.
My mores, values, inspirations and aspirations came from TV shows, books and people I admired (certain teachers, neighbors, peers & the relatives we had moved far away from).
I am sometimes shocked at how much Happy Days, the Brady Bunch, comics, fiction books and random strangers influenced what I have become.
Surprisingly, I think I turned out pretty f***ing good. I am pleased with who I am and what I have accomplished in my life.
It’s no wonder I am so different from my mother. I may have her genes, but everything else I had to learn on my own.
Note: To give credit where credit is due, I am extremely fortunate to have had My Aunt Essie, My Uncle Bob, My Uncle Russ, My Grandpa, some fabulous teachers, business mentors, parents of friends, my wife and many other wonderful people in my life who selflessly gave me their time, love and attention. Without them, I could have never become the man I am today.