Skip to main content

Mother, May I?

Everyone played "Mother, May I?" as I kid.  One of the players is nominated the "Mother" and stands separate from the pack, whom are all lined up an equal distance away.  Then Mother goes down the line and gives instructions as to what each player may do.  "Carrie, take 3 giant steps forward," to which the player must respond "Mother, may I?" and wait until she hears "Yes, you may" before taking her steps.  If you move without asking permission, it's back to the starting line with you.  First to touch Mother wins.  And is apparently the biggest suck up.

What a weird thing to base a game on asking permission.

But as a child, it's true that your every move is cushioned and guided by permission.  Some kids rebel against having to ask for it.  Some kids embrace its safety.  I remember I used to love using the "they didn't give me permission" card when I didn't want to do something.  "Well, if you don't want to go," my mother would say, "then just say I didn't give you permission.  I'll take the blame." 

I loved getting to blame my mom.

Blame goes hand in hand with permission.  Permission shields the young from blame, who are too little to carry real responsibility, but as time goes on the mantle is transferred from the parents' shoulders onto the child's.  Blame becomes heavy and permission a courtesy of the past.

For example, moving out is a big shift from permission to responsibility.  And as time goes on, if successful, that responsibility continues to blossom.  You no longer have an "allowance", it's your hard-earned money, free and clear.  It's no longer school work, it's a diploma and a real job.  It's no longer an apartment with three roommates, it's a house with a wife, a baby, and a golden retriever.  

These past couple years, I've given up a lot of permissions, and accumulated greater odds for blame.  I went to a church that wasn't with my parents.  I moved out.  I became more than 90% financially independent.  I went to school and maintained good grades.  And then I got married.  That's a lot.  

When Dave and I were driving down to West Virginia for a vacation last weekend, during the ride I was thinking about how often I still feel this child-like need for permission.  I'm the kid who loved the safety of asking permission.  I didn't want to own my "no", and was happy to have my parents say it for me.  Often times, even now, I am still scared to take the hit of blame for something.  Because permission was safe.  Permission protected my desire for everyone to like me.  Blame and responsibility promise no such thing.

And there I was on the winds of a West Virginia mountain road, surrounded by green and a strange realization of my independence.  Mostly strange because I was sitting next to a man whom I'll probably have to ask permission for on more things than I ever did with my parents.  But it's different.  It's not, "Dave made the decision," it's "We made the decision."  And I felt this fierceness, this perilous wildness rise up at the thought of looking over that edge with him, the weight of our decisions yoked across our shoulders.

Over that edge is the first sight of the end of school, less than a year away.  And permission will diminish even more, crystallizing into our personal responsibility.  Less and less we are those children asking "Mother, may I?".  And it's a fearful and glorious thing.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I Watch You Smile - You Steal the Show

Anyone ever see "Mean Girls" with Lindsey Lohan? When she was pissed off, she suffered from a symptom she dubbed "word vomit". Hers was the result of her convulsing anger, but I have a different word vomit. Mine is basically the result of my vocabulary and emotions upchucking at the same time. I'm not quite sure what to tell you guys; what's appropriate to say, what you don't need to know, what's too much to tell you. This is probably gonna be a pretty long entry, which might scare you off, but after hearing my unusally discouraging tones I have no doubt that many of you are now riveted. I guess...you guys love me and want to know me, and for some, this is the only way you keep up with me. I'll figure out the limit as I go, I guess. I had a very good talk with my momma today, which is a good sign for our relationship. It was violently and starkly splintered for quite a while, but it has progressed in leaps and bounds lately as I've better und...

The First Stages

2 days ago I had a coffee date with the girl "in charge" of the house I'll be moving into this Sunday. Snuggled down in a sweatshirt over a white chocolate mocha during a drizzly afternoon we went over last minute details to make sure she and I were on the same page. As we wrapped everything up, she told me to wait and dashed to the car; coming back in with a polka dot gift bag I had only eyes for what lay behind the curled red ribbon tying the two handles together: two shiny silver keys. Inside the bag was a beautiful red journal and a heap of candy from all the girls to welcome me into the house, but I couldn't get over the feel of those keys in my hand with fresh cut grooves. I marveled at the sight of them threaded onto my keychain as Sarah Brasse's eyes danced from across the table. I looked up, feeling the warmth of the mocha spread from my abdomen to my fingers and toes and the ends of my hair. "It's real, isn't it?" I said. "It's...

Shipwrecked

I always seem to come back here, to this place of writing and sharing.  It feels like a boulder on the shore - I may wash away in the tide for a while, but somehow I always end up washed back here. It's now been nearly twelve years since my first post here.  I was 18 when I started this blog for my Freshman English class; two months from now, I'll be 30 and freshly divorced. There is much, of course, that I cannot and will not write about that last detail; I am not here to tattle or list grievances.  Here is the short story: we were together for nearly 12 years, and now we are working on paperwork for our dissolution.  No, there was no infidelity on either side.  And no, I was the one who initiated both the separation and the dissolution.  Yes, it was - and is - very painful.  And yes, I do hope he quickly finds happiness after we part ways, even if it sounds trite. And here I am, back here on this seaside boulder, washed ashore like a ...