Question: What’s the definition of a sweater?

Answer: A garment worn by a child when her mother is cold.

Did you giggle when you read that? I think you might have, for no matter what your cultural background, religion, or ethnic heritage, it strikes an all too familiar chord for many of us. Mothers do that: they inflict upon their children their own needs and desires. But it sure isn’t funny when you are the one whose arms are being thrust      into that sweater – especially if you are not the slightest bit cold.

As the daughter of my mother, I agonized over the conflict between Mom’s need to take care of me and my desire to be independent.

As the mother of my daughter, step-daughter and daughter-in-law, I’m still distressed – albeit under the reversed circumstance: I struggle with my need to take care of them while recognizing their abilities to be self-sufficient.

Mom, back then, was that woman who constantly nagged, commented on my choices of clothing, friends, eating habits. Certainly some inner recesses of my subconscious tried to get me to understand her badgering was not meant as harassment; not meant to hurt my easily bruised psyche. There must have been some part of my mind that recognized her intent was not to inflict pain.

“Caryn Jane, you didn’t finish your dinner. You must clean your plate for there are children in world who are starving.”

Not quite understanding how my clean plate would, in any way, aid those aforementioned hungry kids I, nevertheless, did as I was bade. I tackled the last of four lamb chops, broccoli and baked potato, then moved on to dessert. That, of course, was inhaled with no prompting necessary.

Okay, so I’d listened to Mom, did as she requested and finished my dinner. Why, then, was she always on my case to lose weight?

“Caryn Jane, you look like a Mac truck in that outfit.”

Now, that was a great comment from her point of view. With those eleven words she not only managed to denigrate my excess pounds but also passed negative judgment on my fashion sense. Whammo – two points for that one!

With the passing of years and family circumstances, however, I now have a perspective on motherhood that I was not privy to in my youth. Mom’s commentaries had been uttered in momspeak – a foreign language which was only logical to the speaker. It is totally incomprehensible to the listener and, therefore, all too often, misinterpreted.

“Clean your plate because children are starving” translated in my mind to Mom needing me to show how much I enjoyed her cooking. In truth it was momspeak for “I came from a place of poverty, survived the war and can now provide for my family.” Who knew it was code language for her love? She did.

Likening my girth to that of a Mac truck was hurtful when I heard the words. Properly decoded, though, they were meant to aid me in my choice of clothing, to look like the young woman she wanted me to be. Mom was proud of her daughter and wanted me to be “a lady, petite in size and well dressed.” How else would I ever find a husband? Once again, momspeak for love.

I listened. I groaned. And, while I wanted desperately to rebel, I abided by her every command.

I was wise enough, however to never do use momspeak with my kids. Certainly whenever we went to New York City to visit Grandma it was imperative that I offer advice on the correct choice of clothing for such an occasion, as in “No way are you wearing that grungy outfit to the City.” And I did have to teach them that it is wasteful to not finish every morsel on their dinner plates: “Children in Vietnam are starving” I’m sure they understood. Didn’t they? I only had their best interests at heart.

My mother’s needs and desires had translated into her requirements for my conduct. I didn’t understand that then. I didn’t even fully comprehend when I became a mother. Only now can I look back and recognize the pattern that I unwillingly followed in the rearing of my children. I can only hope that one day they have the same revelation, and recognize that all the badgering was my momspeak – filled as was my mom’s – with the best of intentions and boundless amounts of love.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s feeling a little chilly in the house. I’ve got to go get a sweater – to put on my granddaughter.