Your Turn By MARILYN PRIBUS

The Nicest Thing My Mother Ever Said to Me

When I was about 12 my mother was recounting some clever thing I did when I was 3. Her mem-ories, undoubtedly edited by the years, painted me as the perfect preschooler. I compared myself unfa-vorably with the charmer she recalled. Not quite a teenager, I was awkward with horn-rimmed glasses and hair frizzed from home permanents. (Frizz was not the style then.) Other girls were teased by the “obnoxious” boys at school and clustered in happy groups. My romances were all imaginary. “When was I the best age?” I asked a trifle hesitantly. Mother looked at me in surprise. “Right now,” she told me. “You’re the best age you’ve ever been.”

At a luncheon the day before my college graduation, Mother was talking about how fast time flies. It seemed only a month ago she was a Brownie leader and I was a Brownie. In college I hadn’t been a cheerleader. My grades could have been bet-ter. Hairstyles were now bouffant but my hair was in a skinny pony tail.

Most nights I’d be at the dorm desk ringing the rooms of other girls as their dates arrived. I had no grad school or Peace Corps applications in the mail. I commented to my mother that I supposed she missed her little girl.

“Heavens, no,” she said emphatically. “You’re the best age now you’ve ever been.”

Three years later I was living with my parents again, this time with two babies in the spare room. I’d married my high school sweet-heart and he’d left me. Only for three months until we could join him at the Air Base in Okinawa, it’s true, but there I was with diapers and rattles and baby powder.

Coping with infants who woke at dawn, spurned their oatmeal then nibbled on the newspapers, I turned my parents’ well-ordered home into a nursery.

I ate a bit too much, slept a bit too much and crabbed a bit too much. Apologetically I told my mother I was sure she’d be glad to get back to normal—kids were fine, but I was a bit old to be her child.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I enjoy those baby boys, but right now you are the best age you’ve ever been.”

Suddenly my “babies” were teenagers with vacuum cleaner appetites. My house was never entirely clean and I was all too inclined to start planning dinner at 4:45. Although “frizz” was now the style, my hair was straight as a string. Nevertheless, during a holiday visit, my mother said, “You’re the best age ever.” The very next week my 16-year-old son and I were having a discussion. Although I’ve forgotten the subject, I remember it was a somewhat, ah, heated discussion.

We often had heated discussions on a variety of topics since we held vastly differing views on the redeeming benefits of TV, the definition of a clean room, and whether the just-under-a-quarter-full gas tank he left me had a lot left or was darn near empty.

“Brother,” he finally said in exasperation. “I bet you wish I was 2 years old again and you could boss me.”

But looking up (!) at him I only paused a moment before saying honestly, “No, Dan, that’s not true at all. Right now you are the best age you’ve ever been.”

And with those words I passed on a gift of acceptance, a feeling of worth and worthiness and security. I handed on my mother’s gift of love.

Lynn Pribus lives in Charlottesville. Her mother passed away four years ago, but Lynn says she enjoys her mother’s legacy of love every day.

 

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