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life lessons (2004) |
| Written by stephen west | |
| Saturday, 02 August 2008 | |
Did you know that, according to the laws of most countries in the world, your mother is your nearest relative? It makes sense. Put it against the old proverb, "It is a wise child who knows his/her own father", to which could be added "And it is a fortunate child who knows his/her own mother. This alludes to the plain and simple fact that our first physical contact with another human being, from the moment of conception, is with our mothers. And for at least some hours, or possibly days or even years after birth, our continued contact is also, normally, with mother. No wonder that mothers are revered, even deified, in many cultures. You see, it has been proven, by extensive scientific study, that children learn and achieve more in the first four years of life than they will ever learn in the rest of their lives. And a child who does not learn much at that time does not learn much more later. The physical and sensory experiences of early childhood, the strategies of mobility, the intricacies of language, introduction to human nature, human lore and law, and its manipulation for personal or community gain, all these things are imbued in infancy. They are lessons never forgotten. My mother was a superb teacher. My mother instilled into me so many perceptions that bode well for the rest of my life. I will give you a few examples. My visio-spatial abilities and body awareness was greatly enhanced by orders to sit down, and then sit up. Further instruction on acrobatics and contortionism followed. "Will you look at the dirt on the back of your neck" she would say. And foresight. After I sat down and sat up and twisted my upper spine beyond repair she would say, (so sweetly), "And have you washed your hands?" Usually, I had not, and a maths lesson would follow. "I have told you a thousand times...." And I knew that something was wrong with that estimation because I could calculate how many days I had spent on this earth which included the knowledge and ability to realise that my hands were dirty, and to do something about it. It did not add up to a thousand. What was more frustrating was the reaction to my stories. "I have told you a million times not to exaggerate." Oh really. A million? Well I have news for you mother. I have told you a million times that I do not like carrots. (Is this a maths lesson or a hypocrisy lesson?) And yet, having sat down to table, and sat up, having left again to take ablutions, I would climb back on my chair to be faced with.....carrots! And then I would learn stamina. "You will sit there till all those carrots are eaten". A lesson in osmosis followed, an opportunity to assimilate food without ingestion. "Shut your mouth and eat your dinner!" And that is when an opportunity arrived for my mother to teach me irony. I would usually start to weep when faced with carrots. I am frightened of so little in this world, but the prospect of a taste of carrot on my tongue still terrifies me. So, as the tears trickled down my cheeks my mother would warn, "If you continue to cry I will give you something to laugh about!" "Huh!" Then came the lesson in religion. Invariably, as it is with one of tender years, some of my dinner always seemed to end up on the floor. "You had better pray that stain comes out of the carpet" Time travel? The subtleties of the works of H.G. Wells, when I finally discovered them, were no mystery to me. I had been told so often, "If you do not behave yourself, I will knock you into the middle of next week" All this was, of course, sprinkled with tutorials on wisdom, power and logic. My enquiries about life, the ones that started with "Why?" were met with an instant, "Because I say so, that is why". Then came lessons in human relationships and envy. "There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who do not have a wonderful mother" The weather was within the bounds of my understanding very early in life, but I must confess some early confusion between weather and warfare. On any given day my bedroom might be described to me. "It looks like a tornado swept through here". And then, within twenty four hours, "It looks as if a bomb went off in here!" Then there was more on human relationships, behaviour modification and standards. "Stop acting like your father." And fate and other peoples opinions: "Make sure you always put on clean underwear. If you get knocked down by a bus and they take you to hospital, I do not want them thinking that I do not wash your clothes." That is when I learned about "them". The unseen, un-named, but terrible judges whose threats of retribution, or criticism, it seemed, I would face all my life. "They" who might not only think ill of me, but also seemed to have some power over my mother. A slow dawning of knowledge. An appreciation that during my, then, short life, the ultimate power may be some outside force which also held sway over my mother. But the focus of my knowledge of the circle of life and all its terrible, malignant, magnificent, beautiful and elusive ambiguities always returned to my mother. "I brought you into this world" she would say, "And I can take you out again" Maybe I am joking. Maybe my mother was joking all those years ago. I am not sure. But my favourite quote about motherhood comes from John Berryman's "Dream Songs" "Life can be boring, but I can never say so. My mother repeatedly taught me as a boy, that ever to confess you are bored means you have no inner resources." Almost as subtle as my lessons, so well learned, so young, at my mother's knee. Copyright 2008 stephen west |
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