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Growing Up

There is a mother and her child, a little girl about 6, sitting next to me on my way back to Stockholm. The girl is for some reason not very happy. She pulls the pink hood of her jacket over her blond her such that it covers most of her face and then she stares down at her legs defiantly. Her equally blonde mother bends over in front of her and talks to her in Swedish, in a  firm but patient tone, but the little girl does not respond. She pulls down the hood more tightly to express her annoyance with the one sided conversation. But if she was stubborn, she had inherited it from her mother, who does not give up. She attempts to lift up the hood but her daughter pulls it down firmly again. Instead of starting a tug of war, the mother continues her gentle persuasion, but the daughter is in no mood to listen.

Then all of a sudden, she hugs her daughter and kisses her on her forehead. She does not let go but holds onto her daughter, tight. After a while, the child reciprocates and hugs her mother back. Her stubbornness had melted in her mother's warmth and soon enough, the hood and the jacket is off and a happy girl takes the place of the unhappy one.

It made me think just 3 hours earlier, when waiting at the airport, my mother had called me. She had called me just about 5 minutes after my father's call, after she had heard from him I had slept on the floor at the airport while waiting for the plane.

"I heard you were sleeping outside the airport. Isn't it very cold? Did you cover yourself properly? Otherwise you will catch a cold. Go drink some hot water.......", she let off a stream of concerns.

The uncomfortable sleep had already put me in a very irritable mood and when my initial reassurances went unheeded, I snapped,

 " Please Ma. I am 23 years old. I know how to take care of myself".

There was a moment of silence. Then she stammered, 

"Oh ok. You do what you want then."


I cut the phone. But I knew I had wronged, if not in my justification, then certainly in my reaction. Not that I do not love my mother. I do love her very much, but with time, every child needs a bit of space and perhaps treatment worthy of an adult. The problem though lies with the fact that, despite how old we grow, to most of our parents, we remain the same kid who once sat next to them and refused to talk until a big hug and a kiss made everything all right again.



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