She's Danish and moved here when she was something like 19, maybe 20, married my Dad and she never went back. In her house she has a Saarinen table and Bertoia chairs; she was achingly cool in her design choices even before design was cool. She is unflappable. She can tell if I am OK or not from the word 'hello' when I call her on the phone (daily). She keeps old, old, good quality friendships with a handful of very inspiring women whom I came to know when growing up. She is one of those amazing benefactor Aunts who has hosted scores of Danish cousins over the years. Her house is effortlessly undone but done at the same time. She is the single biggest influence in my life; still. She doesn't eat chicken and loathes feathers, but, obscurely is still willing to cook duck for our Danish Christmas dinner. She would do anything for my brother and I. Still. If ever I have to work out what the right thing is to do, the motherly thing; I look to her. She works hard but stays calm. She is a bastion of strength and dignity. I love her so much it makes my heart ache. She's open-minded and reacts at nothing - no matter how bad you think you've been - she sees the good. This came in very handy when I was 15.
I have learnt so much from my Mum, she is the single coolest person I know.
She and I went to see the film 'Pride'. To a matinee too. I really enjoyed the film, not least because of it's 1980's backdrop and soundtrack (I heart the 80's) that reminded me so much of being 11 or 12 years old and just becoming aware of the world, circa 1985. I recall the miner's strike and listening to the news wondering what on earth was happening what I considered to be far-off places (like Wales!) in my own country.
The film is about gay rights and there is a scene where a mother is trying to persuade her son not to be gay; as if pointing out the massive downside of something so elemental will change his whole being. I found it absolutely heartbreaking to watch, not least because whilst I could never imagine my own mother trying to talk me out of something that was inherently 'me' but also because in terms of my own parenting style, I recognised that my instinct might be to do the opposite. When parenting I notice that my need to have my children behave/be/act a certain way can (I am ashamed to say) outweigh my need to allow them to be themselves. It's like modern perfectionism run amok; one only needs to log onto Facebook and see every ones 'perfect' life to understand what I mean by 'modern perfectionism'. The good news is that I can see it, stop it and revert to how it should be and how it was for me. Having a mother who accepts, even when it is not what she wants or perceives as right. Very fine balance.
I also felt shamed that as recently as the 80's, such prejudice existed towards gays, in much the same way as when I watched 'The Help' and saw that in my parent's generation there was such prejudice against blacks. What will be our modern equivalent in 20 years' time? How asylum seekers are treated now? I veer into political territory here and that's not the intention, but I see only what matters is how we parent young minds and whether we show the way and accept anyone that is 'other', whatever 'other' means.
Meanwhile one mistake my Mum did make was getting rid of her awe-inspiring 1980's wardrobe! She had chocolate brown, velvet Jordache flares, patent red stiletto sandals that looked like they should have featured in a 'Roxy Music' video. Ironic silk sailor blouses. Fur-lined collars. Oh I loved her clothes. Now, every time I have a wardrobe clear-out, it fails because I keep items that Boo might want she is older and wants to recall 2014. My Mum's influence.
Lessons in how to be...
Reviewed by axiata
Published :
Rating : 4.5
Published :
Rating : 4.5
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