The article talks about how a guy should see if he likes the mother before he decides to marry a girl, because she's gonna be just like her mother.
This might have some truth to it, but for selfish reasons, I hope it's not a defacto, standard rule that applies consistently. Mothers certainly pass many traits onto their daughters (I've heard 'the nut doesn't fall far from the tree' more times than I can count), but not an entire personality. As such it would stand to reason that a future husband should be careful to look for similarities of unwanted traits to see if those in particular have been passed down, and likewise, see if desirable traits were passed down. Watching my mother make impossibly unrealistic, snide demands of others, I hope, did /not/ pass down - likely because it was the one trait I personally fought for years and liked the least about her. Sometimes the hatred of one trait will cause the kid to rebel against it and be totally different. However, my cruel, dry, demented, occasionally unsympathetic sense of humour is mostly hers. The intelligence was passed down. Rebelling against authority is hers, totally get that from her, though I can hide it if totally necessary (if I get paid for it). The spelling nazi was passed down and amplified into a self-righteous bitch that I've since toned down some and try to use as a strength instead of a pompous ass attitude. The internal judgement of others may come out at times, but mostly it remains internal and I try to squash it with positive comments about people, something very hard for her to do. On the other hand, I have some traits that she does not. She could never train me to act normally - I was either dense or overly dramatic, both of which she tried her damnedest to override. So, I might be like her in many ways, but liking me and liking her would depend on which attributes you're comparing. The one that would likely be a dealbreaker would be the fierce independence, which I learned to tone down (much like "Muriel" and her politely worded commands). Over the years I actively try to engage social norms somewhat and my mother would completely reject them. See the impossibly realistic demands comment. Related. I've learned that I'm not perfect, either, and the only person one can change is oneself. I know that a child needs to learn for themselves, and I figure adults should have the same privilege. So I keep my need to do things my way to myself most of the time. My way isn't the only way, and even if I do have an experience that might help, it would never help someone else learn if I simply took over. I want others to learn for themselves so they can be independent, too, because I like my independence and don't wish helplessness on anybody. My mom wanted people to fend for themselves so they'd leave her the hell alone. The nut doesn't fall far from the tree, indeed. I tell my cat he needs to smack the shit out his little brother. I can't feed him every two seconds, it's just not happening. Go feed yourself. lol.
Of course, if the mother in law is likely to be in a couple's lives at some point, it might be prudent to look at the mother in law a bit more closely and imagine living with her. This topic has arisen a few times, but thankfully, I'm smart enough to know that it's a very unwise thing and I should listen to the sense of foreboding when I see the hairs on Dale's neck stand on end. He would never openly dislike anyone I'm so close to, and limits his dislike of others in general anyway. But, whether he /likes/ my mother or not doesn't matter to me. I know his opinion on the subject of her living with us, and that's the important part. It's not rocket science that she would be /very/ disruptive to our happy, quiet, peaceful lives. I have that opinion, too. My hairs also stand on end at the thought. I love my mother. I don't /have/ to hate her, too. I have choices, now. Dale and I have choices.
So, let's just say that I'm just glad my mother didn't dissuade Dale from putting on his special glasses for me.
Something I was very thankful for last night was the fact that I played music at a decent level (for me) last night, jumped all over the house in excited dance, played along on the piano, played the wipers, belted a few singalongs horribly, and then tired myself out... without any complaints whatsoever. I normally don't do this because I worry it'll bother Dale, but it was all I could do to remain seated. I hadn't been sitting down very long when he calls into the room. "What happened to the music?" he asked, coming over the stairs. "I got tired, and figured I'd bugged you long enough," I replied, knowing as soon as I said it that I was correctly anticipating his next semblance of thought. He cocked his head in some quizzical expression and said, "I heard some really cool stuff over here. Wipers, piano, lots of dancing...?" I mentally noted he left out the singing, which reinforced for me that it's the one thing my mother was always right about - I don't sing very well - note /well/. I know not everyone has the ear she does. But I've improved. And he didn't ask me /not/ to do that. She would have been all over me the moment a wobbly note had come out of my airway. "You sound like a dying cow," I could hear her saying. "You're tone-deaf. Just stop doing that, you'll never hit the right notes and you're hurting my ears." She also used to tell me not to try playing keyboard or to use headphones. Last night I hit a creative streak and I was picking out songs by ear as they played for the first time in ages. Byte me, Mom. Of course, without her remarks, I may never have been so insistent on trying. Mom couldn't be right, she just couldn't be. I have to have SOME of the family ability. I will do what she can do. I will! And she will some day tell me I've done good!! (And she eventually did, whether it was intentional or not. It's funny to be seldom complimented outright, yet know your mother's so proud of you. But I now understand why that is and have stopped hating her for the catch-22's. Knowing sometimes has to suffice, and why should it matter, anyway? She was raised to be broken, too.)
I got up (a bit reluctantly, I /was/ tired) and began playing more music. Around 11pm (Yeah! Music kept me up late!) a techno song came on. It was unfamiliar to me, and had very little in the way of notes to it... it was mostly just rhythm. My fingers were already on the piano because I'd just been picking out notes to the previous song. (Yes!! I can finally do that, too, Mum!!) Next thing I knew, my muse had taken over and I was adapting the very first piece I'd written. I have no idea what I used to call the piece, but it's short, repetitious, and very catchy. I remember when I played it just before my music class. The teacher came in with a student while I was playing it. I immediately stopped and went back to my seat, embarrassed. No one had said anything to me, but my mother's parental tapes were telling me those people were being polite. However, by the end of the class I overheard the teacher and a few students humming my piece. Well, it's simple, and adapts easily to various rhythms, and last night was no exception. But, what I didn't expect, was that my fingers became so bored with it that they began to crawl over the keys in time to the music and create new structures for it, new notes, maybe a bridge of something, who knows. They kept a similar pattern but elaborated freely. I simply watched, a dumbstruck bystander, as my creative side decided music would be its outlet. I can only figure that all the years of off and on practice, experiences, and training I've had are stored in my brain somewheres, and every now and then my inhibitions are released and I forget I can't play. Then, my brain applies its experiences and simply /does/ stuff so long as I don't try to interfere.
I know it wasn't an awesome thing I did. I heard more than a few bad notes when the techno song added its meager number of notes to its ongoing rhythm. I also know I missed a few beats and had no idea where I should go next... but for someone whom my mother said was totally tone deaf and should never try to play music again, I think I'm well beyond what the average, skimpily-trained person can do. I'm not a prodigy by any means - if I were, I could sing, dammit and my very quiet 1.4 octave range - but years of struggling had to have done /something/ in the brain of a person who should have inherited the musical side the permeates both sides of my family. There's gotta be /something/ in there. But whatever is there is often beaten down by fear of being overheard and told to shut up.
Dale's ears aren't that sensitive. He has enough innate, untrained musical sense to appreciate when I do something well, but not enough of an ear to be in total agony when I don't. We complement each other. And I've learned this over time, and am far less afraid to experiment around him than I ever would have been with anyone else.
So, again, let's just say that I'm glad this daughter's mother didn't dissuade Dale from putting on his special glasses for me. Without him, I would have still grown more as a person, but with him, I have a wonderful mirror to watch my progress in and tweak things as needed. In so many ways, musical or no.
~nv
