Flashback

The longer you put off doing something, the harder it becomes to do it. I can think of a few prime examples -- the gym routine being one of mine.

When I was nine years old, I was invited to a classmate's birthday party. Back then, parties were relatively tame affairs involving a small handful of friends at the birthday person's home. (I think I far prefer that whole way of celebrating than the out-of-control and over-the-top events that parents feel compelled to throw in honour of their precious one turning two).

Being a Montrealer, fashion has always been a big part of my upbringing. It was always important to be presentable and, when possible, to look utterly fabulous. At that age, I was somewhat unsure what was considered acceptable attire at any given point in time. My mother, who encouraged me to dress more like an adult than a child, didn't exactly foster my desire to fit in. All too often, I showed up at school or at social occasions looking like some miniature thirty-something, replete with scarves, cameo brooches and/or handbags as my accessories. I might have looked fab if I'd been twenty years older. As a child, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

So, hours before the party was to begin, I stood before my closet and surveyed the goods. What to wear? I was a very timid child and felt that control always lay without, namely with my parents, the powers-that-were, and more specifically with my mother. For some reason, I felt paralysed to make this particular fashion decision without her sanction, so I consulted her. "Mommy, what should I wear?"

For whatever reason, my mother was not in good humour that day and reacted very badly to my question. I guess she thought I was being weak, dependent and incapable of making my own decision (she was right). Now, my mother while she has the best of intentions, seems to never know how to effectively realise those goals. Her people skills' toolbox is often empty. Noticeably absent are encouragement and finesse.

She chose that day to try and empower me. Good plan, but wrong execution. Essentially she freaked and yelled, among other things, that I was immature,weak and silly. Before she dismissed me from her room, she instructed me to select my own party ensemble after which I was to appear before her and utter the words "Is this satisfactory, Mom?"

Well, for some unknown reason, her speech didn't elicit any action. If anything, it had the opposite effect. I went to my room and immediately picked out a dress which I'd worn to the last birthday party I'd been to. Then suddenly, I lost my nerve and couldn't bring myself to ask for my mother's approval. The script she'd given me felt utterly unnatural and foreign to my ears. Nervously, I waited, completely immobilised, within the confines of my small room and hoped that I would gain the courage to bare my soul to my mother. The more time that passed, the more rooted I felt; since I'd taken so long to make a decision, I became worried that my mother might feel that it wasn't good enough. Neither courage, nor my mother, ever appeared that afternoon.

Hours later, feeling defeated, I changed back to my play clothes. I'd missed the party and the opportunity to show my mother that I wasn't a silly weak girl but a strong, independent one with knock-your-socks-off fashion sense.

It's been so long since I've posted. I've been waiting for inspiration to show up and give me a good subject to write about. Somehow it was too painful to sift through and write about the complex emotions and thoughts that arose when my dad was in hospital. Suddenly, the funny little post I'd been working on about my children discovering the non-existence of Santa Claus seemed so trivial in the face of the possible death of my father. Then, as I started to feel a little less stressed out, I tried to come up with something brilliant to write about as I felt the need to wow everyone after my long absence. So much for empowerment ...