Tuesday, January 17, 2017
The Last Duck in my Swan Collection
My mother decided I should have a collection of ducks when I was a kid. So she bought me a bunch of ducks. Later, much later, I asked her why ducks. She said she remembered them being swans. They weren't. They were definitely ducks. Most of them got lost along the way. I remember, I used to have a really gaudy gold planter duck that I inherited from mother. It wasn't gaudy at the time... in the 80s. I mean, well, everything was gaudy at the time. This duck was normal. I also had a white porcelain set of a big duck and a small duck. There was definitely a pattern of lots of mother ducks with baby ducks. Oops... I just threw up a little in my mouth.
So anyways, today, I snapped a picture of the duck and then I threw it away. The last duck of the swan collection my mother populated with mothers and babies on my behalf. I think I took the picture out of habit... I do that with things that I don't want to keep around but that have some sort of memory attachment to them. But really, I think when I look at the picture now, it's more an oddity than memory. What a weird fucking thing.
Throwing this away is like ridding myself of one more vestige of sentiment I'll never revisit : I will not ever have daughterly feelings about a motherly mother; one more piece of 'polite' I have no need for : I don't need to pretend that the mother/daughter relationship has meaning outside of it's emotional value; one more expectation of society that I don't believe in : I will not grow out of it.
I thought for a few moments, as I put the dishes away, about how, rather than our relationship getting better with time, I've only become more clear about the nature of the relationship, as I make decisions involved in parenting my own son. Then I drove to work.