Wednesday, May 4, 2011
A long time ago I had a cowgirl doll and a pair of red cowgirl boots. When I look at a picture from that time, I can remember that doll perfectly, but not the little girl who wore the red boots. I've been thinking about mothers and children lately. It's strange how the person we remember being is not the same person our mothers remember. Mothers tend to attribute traits and characteristics to a child before they are able to fully express themselves: "She has Grandmother's freckles and Aunt J's stubbornness," they say, but are these things true for a lifetime? Probably not. We try to assert our adult identities, but should realize that our mothers will never see the person we are now without the misty and cherished image of the child we once were.