As I was trying to occupy myself during this torturous excursion into youth culture, I asked myself a question I have asked myself several times over the past thirteen years: would my daughter and I be friends if we were the same age, growing up at the same time? To properly answer this question, I would need a time travel machine and some other scientific advances, but let's pretend.
This is a seriously hard question. I can't think about this with my son. It is sort of like a fraction with zero as the denominator. The answer doesn't exist.
x/0 = ?
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| This graph shows that zero as the denominator is undefined. (From http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hyperbola_one_over_x.svg#file ) |
As her mother, it is my job to see that she grows up educated, kind and with relatively good manners. It is her job to question everything I say. From my perspective, I would not choose a friend who questions everything I say. From her perspective, she would likely not choose a friend who constantly tells her to chew with her mouth closed, nag her about folding the laundry and to pull her long hair off of her dinner plate.
With the three decade difference in our ages, I struggle to see what we would have had in common. Clearly, not our choice in clothes. Everything I wore until I was 22 and got a job was baggy and over sized. She wears clingy clothes with a confidence I have never had. She is very much into her appearance, wearing fancy clothes and constantly polishing her nails. I like fleece and wash and wear hair. Some of our differences are due to the years in which we spent our youth, but others are just because we are different. I studied French and played the flute. She studies Japanese and plays the clarinet and piano. She is a much better musician than I ever was. My favorite class in school was history. She prefers science. I was into Student Council and dance. She plays soccer and likes to rock climb. We are both relatively shy, but what we do with it is different. I would rather go for a bike ride while she sits on the couch and reads. She loves going off to camp where she doesn't know a soul. I went to camp with friends. When she skis, she pushes herself beyond her skill level. I am (and was) far more cautious. I like to swear (though I am cutting back) and she likes to say "Holy Goodness!"
Instead of being like me, she is her own person. In some ways, she chooses to be the opposite of me, just because I am her mother (see swearing.) Would I have wanted to be friends with a carbon copy of myself? Probably not. We will never know is she would have been my mean girl or my bestie. I don't think we are such opposites that we never would have crossed paths, nor do I think she would have hated me. I could see us sitting at the same lunch table, perhaps, but I don't know we share enough ground to have become good friends.
I get kind of sad when I think about it that way. I suppose there are some mothers and daughters who would have been perfect opposites and hated each other as kids. Others might have been good friends. I'll never know, so I really can't be sad about something that could never happen. It is as if we are parallel lines, both going in the same direction, never to cross.
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| from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Parallel_transversal.svg#file |
I am glad I know her now. Even if it means trips to the mall.
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