The other day, my mom sent me a picture of her during her third year of teaching. She was around 25, and she looked exactly like me. Same nose, same eyes, same smile. She was bright, young and excited.
It was the late 1980s. The world was growing and changing and she had her whole life in front of her. She was teaching, like I am learning to now. I’m looking at this picture of my mom from 35 years ago, and I am somehow seeing myself. How can that be?
And so I wondered, what was she possibly doing at that time? I know she liked to sew, and I know she liked to read. But the only thing I can really understand is the music she must have been listening to.
In an ode to my young mother, who had not yet met my musician father, I took a deep dive into the music she must have been listening to.
I, honestly, envy my mother for getting to live at this time. Music was, arguably, at one of the most interesting times in music history. The 80s transition to the 90s pulled away from classic rock and into electronic and modern pop. Of course, each of these genres held influences from the past: country, soul, R&B, funk, disco. And for the first time, people were hearing music on the radio that was a true conglomeration of all of the characteristics of the music that came before.
Can you imagine? Wham! was at their height, Whitney Houston was topping the charts, and Michael Jackson’s album “Bad” broke worldwide records. My mother lived music history I have taken entire college classes about. Still, though, I talk about this era with my mother and she does not exhibit the same amazement. Instead, it is amusement. She laughs about my fascination. To her, it was simply an era of her life. Instead, she likes to reflect on the music she associates with being a young woman.
Some Michael Jackson, sure. She was a little young for Beatle-mania, and a little old for Nirvana or the Red Hot Chili Peppers. She loved James Taylor and Billy Joel. She liked the Bee Gees and Jim Croce and Stevie Wonder. And so, somehow I have become her. I don’t even remember her playing any of these growing up. I just know now that most of these are in my comfort music playlist. So I look at that picture and I think about her, and I wonder how that young woman became the woman that raised me, and somehow also the woman I am today. How have I become her?
It’s not a bad thing to have become my mother. I adore her. She, clearly, has great music taste. She is warm and loving, while still adequately critical and confident. She understands absolutely everything you say to her. She is a great listener. She is a great friend. She likes thrift shops and bookstores. She is informed and up to date on pretty much any news, politics, or pop culture stories you can think of. She is an avid New York Times wordle, connections, and mini crossword player. She has traveled extensively. She can sew, quilt, crochet, and knit. She makes the best baked goods. Even if I just inherit one of these qualities, it will be enough. No matter what I become of my mother, I will be grateful to see myself in her as we both continue to grow.