This Post Grad Life: I Am My Mother

The first indication that I am my mother happened when I was a freshman in college. I bought a bottle of instant Lysol wipes and casually cleaned by little dorm room every Sunday (my mom never goes a day without creating vacuum streaks on our family room carpet). The second indication was that I secretly began to think people weren’t sincere if they weren’t on time (my mom doesn’t rely on people who are consistently late — she’s always told me it’s a terrible shot to their character). The third indication was when I found myself in my mother’s closet, seriously considering borrowing at least half an outfit for a night out. Yep, she has impeccable style. Mom…are you reading this??
But I will tell you: this mother admiration has turned into a mimic act. I am turning into my mother.
I love my mom and I don’t have a problem being just like her.  She’s very wise, has a great taste in music and keeps that fine rhythm between being totally cool with my friends but totally being a mom. Throughout college, I definitely began to appreciate her for advice and cool stories about driving to Fort Myers with my dad “back in the day” (1980s) in his black Chevelle on an ambitious whim. Basically, I’ve always known I want to be like her but I never thought I would be her.
I’ve always been very close with my mom. And I’ve always had outside ambitions that I’ve wanted to be just like her. But in college, it was always a sort of a abstract vision of mine to take after her — not necessarily a conscious action. I always thought; I want to be just like her. . . sweet and cultured. Kind and endearing. I want to be an emotional dictionary, where I can quickly define what anyone is feeling at any given moment and give them the remedy to conquer whatever that may be. But we all wait for it. We sit in this little dark room of ourselves and wait patiently for that one liner…that interesting habit…that universal and key moment to turn into our mothers.
And I never thought I would enjoy it as much as I do.
If it is one thing I can grasp on in my floundering post grad years, it’s the fact I can take after a woman I really look up to. It’s actually starting to freak me out…how much I’m like her. Sometimes, I catch myself saying the same exact things she would. I’m extremely cleanly and organized. I hate it when people aren’t on time. I would rather stay at home and read a book instead of going out.
Most of us think we’re like our mothers because these are the women who birthed us (gross, who else thinks the word “birthed” is disgusting?) But recently, my life just took a unique twist also in the spirit of my mom. I recently took on the same occupation, as a flight attendant. My cute little role model came to my ‘graduation’ from flight attendant school today (yes, it exists) and my teachers had her come up to pin my wings to my uniform. Since I’m genetically inclined to cry the second my mom sprouts salty tears, I found myself getting awkwardly emotional in front of my entire class.
But as I watched her pin those wings onto my shirt and look at me admirably, as she might look at her younger self, I smiled back. At the end of the day — we are our mothers. And it’s not something we should shy away from like a slap on the hand. It’s something we should aspire to. On most accounts, it’s our mothers who give all of us our wings. And it’s only natural to take what they’ve given us and fly.
Cheesy enough for you?

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