My mom's life story isn't one that most would find riveting, but I am constantly impressed by her intelligence and sharp sense of humor. I frequently open my mailbox to find a envelope with her return address stuffed full of interesting news articles (she most recently sent one on corporation CSAs, where produce comes to the workplace because all the workin suburbanites are too busy to pick up the goodies after work), witty political cartoons on global warming and healthcare, and other notes on life. I have no doubt that with her brain, she could/can do amazing things that would impress the rest of the world as well.
But she and I have led very different lives thus far. She started out wanting to be a horticulturist, but was convinced by her mother to study cosmetology instead - something she hated and found shallow. Under pressure, she went to the vocational school in her teens to study hair color and learned how to cut mullets and feathered bangs in the late '70s.
Reflecting on this experience, teenage dynamics, and her upcoming 30th high school reunion, my mom explained, "I have no reason to look back. No one would even know who I am. They didn't know who I was at the time. Those popular kids were afraid of the JVS. They were scared they'd go there and people would FORGET about them and how great they were. But kids like me, we didn't care. We were like that movie Frosty the Snowman - we were the Isle of Misfit Toys!"
Since this time, she's kept up her true passion - flower gardening. Growing insane amounts of zinnias and mexican sunflowers and always finding new varieties, she tends her beds every single evening. But during the day, she's spent the last two decades working in supermarket delis or meat departments- all the while still dreaming of having her own garden center or flower shop.
Yet, because she can't resist, she finds humor wherever she is and always wears a smile. She teases coworkers and has no qualms calling people out for being 'crusty old men' when they have a bad attitude. She's even laid down the law with one guy who whistles eight hours a day with her own set of rules: "No holiday songs. no funeral songs. no patriotic songs."
As Brandon and I are finding ourselves at a unique crossroads in life, trying to determine our next step - new place, new work, new life - I've been reflecting a lot on just how privileged this place is. I can choose the kind of life I will have - how I will make money, how I use my time - and I realize that my parents have never had, and probably never will have, this luxury. And when I start to bemoan all the choices I have to make, I stop myself. Because somewhere along the line I've started fulfilling all those cliches about parents wanting to give their kids a better life, and I find myself incredibly grateful.
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