I’m in the Middle of a Mother-Daughter Sandwich

I Never Knew it Would Be Like This

Photo by Wilfred Wong on Unsplash

Witches

My daughter is the oldest daughter of the oldest daughter of the oldest daughter, and so on, generations way back. We can even trace our lineage of grandmothers to the first woman hanged for witchcraft in Salem, Massachusetts.

It’s a proud legacy, especially since we found out that instead of witchcraft, they were “just” women guilty of annoying people, refusing to take crap from anyone, particularly men, and rugged independent examples of “Biddy-Uncongeniality.” I’ve started wondering if they were just old.

The sandwich

I find myself between two generations now, and although some of our history is predictable, I mull over our differences and the sorrow that shadows me when I think of them.

My mother’s mothers

My mother was smart. Really smart. She loved her six children with order and affection. In response to our inevitable transgressions, from an elbow in someone’s neck, to the dreaded trips to the police station for our petty crimes, she always had the same reaction. With great conviction, she pronounced, “I love you and I like you. I will always love you, but I don’t like you very much right now.”