There are distinct places we think of when we reflect on the most influential points of our lives. It may be the classroom, the court, the field, the church, the backyard, the stage... it can be anywhere; wherever you go when you sink back into those memories of being young and remembering the moments when something or someone changed you.
Of all the places that come to mind when I think back to the times in my life that shaped who I am, some of my most sacred ones are in the homes of my best friends.
Sure, sure— I loved hanging out with my friends. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been there in the first place. But what I want to pay tribute to is all the times I’ve sat with my friends’ moms in their kitchens and living rooms talking about everything under the sun.
All the boy drama, family drama, friend drama, school drama— I could not sit here and detail every topic of conversation if I tried. It doesn’t matter, though. Those conversations may not be top of mind now, but they are etched into my skin, my brain, my entire being. I am who I am because of them.
When you grow up, your parents play a major role in your life. Even if your parents are absent, that absence plays a big role. So whether or not your family is “picture-perfect”, you can trace a decent amount of your personality and behaviors to your parents’ involvement or lack thereof.
That’s rather obvious.
I think it’s easy to forget about the way other parents shape us.
You don’t always think back to:
When you went to sleepovers and your friend’s parents made you popcorn and let you eat big bowls of ice cream.
When you needed a ride from the movies at 10PM, and they’d pick you up.
When you tagged along on their vacations and were treated as if you were apart of the family.
When you bought movies from On Demand and racked up their cable bill.
When you’d spend summer days running through a sprinkler in their front yards.
When you used up all their hot water taking showers before going out.
When you disrupted their slumbers trying to come home quietly after being at a party.
When they caught you in a lie and promised they’d keep their lips sealed anyway.
When you showed up right in time for dinner, and they offered you a plate without thinking twice.
When you contemplated how to wear your hair to Prom and they offered suggestion after suggestion.
When they didn’t let you cry alone during some of the hardest parts of your life.
When they told you, “No matter where you go or where I am, my house is always your home.”
When they bought you sentimental gifts because you were seen as their second daughter.
When they wanted you to know “I love you like my own.”
I wish I could go back in time and thank each one of the women who believed in me, took care of me, and loved me at every stage of my life. From the parents of the friends I made in preschool, grade school, college, and elsewhere. I always admired every one of my friend’s moms because they each brought something different to the table— the stern ones who took no bullshit, the soft ones who showed compassion, the funny ones who kept it light, the adventurous ones who said yes, and the structured ones who added stability.
I wanted to take the pieces I admired from each of them and create myself out of what they gave me. In some ways, I think I did. Not because I actively glued myself together with pieces of who they were but because I absorbed their wisdom, love, and wit through every experience I had with them.
It would take a lifetime for me to explain how vital their involvement was in the creation of my person, so instead of trying to jam all the examples I have into one tribute, I’ll have to ask each woman who held my hand at one point or another to accept my appreciation for how valuable they were and still are to me.
If you can imagine how even one woman shaped one person, you can imagine how they all shape the youth. In the simplest of terms, they are the backbone to our society.
It is inevitable that with age, we see our friends’ parents less and less. We move out of our hometowns, get “real” jobs, and start to think of ourselves as the next generation of parents. It’s weird— this transition of authority. Life takes over, and before you know it, you’re looking back on when you were a pig-tailed-wearing second grader thinking, “when did I grow up?”
I guess that’s good, though. It means I had enough people looking out for me so that I could just grow up. And that’s why now I have to thank them. Being in my mid-twenties is a bit nerve-racking, unsettling, and wondrous at the same time. Sometimes I wish I could rewind to a day from my childhood and relive picking out a movie from On Demand while being handed a big bowl of popcorn in the living room of my friend’s house. Sometimes I wish I were given just one more day, but when I reminisce on my memories, I appreciate it all the same.
I’ve been fixated on what type of mother I’m going to be for a very long time now. Being a mom seems like the most intense, complex title in the world, and man, it must be so easy to screw up, too.
But I’m pretty confident in the fact that I’ve seen some of the world’s most amazing women up close and personal. Knowing that I’ve had the pleasure to learn from each one of them puts me at ease thinking that they gave me what I can one day give my children.
So, to all the mamas out there building up their children, you are doing one hell of a job. To all the mamas building up their children’s friends, you are doing thankless work. And to all the mamas who have assumed the position of “second mom” to kids just trying to find their way, thank you. You may never be formally thanked for all the advice, love, guidance, food, shelter, gas, and money you dish out over the years, but you are essential to the infrastructure of the next generation. I am positive I would not be where I am and who I am if I didn’t have wise, strong women showing me the ropes. Please, please know that.
I have a whole world of women to thank, but I am especially grateful for the ones who welcomed me into their kitchens and living rooms and spent countless hours with me over the years. I promise when I have children of my own, the barstools in my kitchen and couches in my living room will be where I pay it forward, where I teach every one of my children’s friends who need me, that I am there— just like they were for me.
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