“You don’t just stop being a mother,” this one said in a tone that shook the light fixture. The kid had turned 19 and asserted that she was an adult and would heretofore make her own decisions. “You don’t just stop being a kid and suddenly be a grown up,” would have been excellent repartee had it occurred then. Wise cracks seldom happen when you need them.

This mama’s single goal of childhood was to grow up and do exactly as she so desired. She would, for your information, stay up till all hours, don high heels and make all those wonderful clip clop sounds, and wear lipstick. And further pursuant to that, there would be nothing anyone could do about it. So there. The years did what years do and finally the goal seeker was rewarded for perseverance if not patience. It was not long however before she became, as she continues to, appreciative of 10 PM sleep, and tie up shoes formulated for walking/jogging rather than those stiletto jobs made for neck breaking trips, pun intended. Lipstick got to stay, after all it serves as punctuation at the end of utterance, and coloured mouth expressions are louder than pale ones. Cosmetics aside, those feelings of first autonomy are heady and can leave a person in a boggle.

Shower, was the plan one 2 AM of new freedom. No parents to decide that would wait till daytime. It was predawn, after all, and there was nothing better to do. The new adult does, despite self assurances to the contrary, have flashbacks from years of parental dictation: What will the landlords say? Is it allowed? Will I get into trouble? As it turned out the shower answered for itself. The house was old and there were no laws then to prevent owners from chopping heritage into money maker apartments. The plumbing was elderly too, and as water issued forth in abundance it howled through the antique building like the lost souls of Hades.

Rap rap tap. The summons was ignored while the tenant held her breath and wondered wildly what to do now, and the landlady went away. It never works like that with one’s parents. Or progeny. The book of grownup’s lesson number six learned at 2:12 on a dark autumn morning: Do what you want but make sure it is legal and moral, and hope that lipstick is not fattening. Life in the proving ground of maturity can send a wannabe sophisticate under the covers, thumb well anchored in mouth.

The bubbly joy of being on one’s own for the first time remains for many of us despite a few decades of life experience. The clutch of curiosity and newness is what drives us to keep recreating that experience.

Or maybe it is the other way around.

-lmg