As I thought about writing an obligatory “My Mom Is The Best” blog post to share for Mother’s Day, I was plagued by an intense writer’s block triggered by flashbacks of The Excessive Social Media Posts of Mother’s Days Past. I couldn’t figure out a way to adequately word a clever anecdote that would make my throwback photo stand out from the rest of the #ILoveMyMom posts, and, quite frankly, I shouldn’t have to wait for the second Sunday of May to profess my appreciation for my mom and grandma.
(Plus, let’s be honest: There’s a 100% chance that my grandma will never, ever see a Facebook post or Tweet shared in her honor, and there is a 98% chance that she probably will not even understand the bulk of my last two sentences.)
Yet, here I am, threatening the sanctity of a good, old-fashioned Hallmark Holiday as I jump on the bandwagon of sappy #ILoveMyMom posts. I couldn’t help it! I’m the least unique person I know.
But, Mal! You carry your camera like its an extra limb! You are weirdly obsessed with grammar! You clearly have plenty of unique hobbies and interests that set you apart from every other human being in the world!
Or, so you thought.
See, as I perused through the trillions of photos that my mom has taken throughout the years in hopes of tracking down the perfectly adorable throwback, I chuckled to myself as I thought of the many times my friends have made fun of me for taking too many photos– clearly the urge to overly-document was a disease I inherited from birth.
Then, as I brainstormed the perfect way to begin my blog post, I harked back to the scores of times my grandma sat down with me to help brainstorm topics for an A-worthy paper or my next great novel, as well as her extraordinary patience as she reviewed and revised my initial drafts– clearly my interest in writing (and grammar!) wasn’t a passion I pursued on my own.
I racked my brain for more instances of my inadvertent imitation and quickly realized that my curly hair isn’t the only feature that I’ve stolen from my family– evidently I cannot claim any ounce of my personality as my own.
Whenever I stay up until 2 a.m. because I can’t seem to put my book down, I can thank my grandma for signing me up for a library card at age three. Whenever I reach for a second (or thirtieth) piece of chocolate, I can attribute my incessant sugar cravings to my mom’s sweet tooth. Any time I burst through the door at 10 p.m. after a long day of back-to-back meetings, I’m emulating my grandma’s drive to devote her time to numerous causes and organizations, and every time I get the urge to speak up and defend my beliefs, I know I’m replicating my mom’s ability to confidently stand up for herself (even when it’s just to point out the unwanted toppings on her sandwich because she CLEARLY ASKED FOR NO TOMATOES OR ONIONS!!!).
Sheesh, I can’t even sport a bright orange life jacket without accidentally copying my mom…
… and every time I send a “Let’s go on an adventure!” text to my friends, I’m plagiarizing the very phrase my grandma used to say to my brother and me before taking us to a zoo or museum.
I guess mimicry truly is the sincerest form of flattery– but if you had two great people whose every moves you could copy, you’d probably want to do it, too.