Encounters With a Stranger: A Humorous Prospective

I feel compelled to share my story about the metamorphosis of the relationship between my lovely daughter and myself, her biological mother.

After all the energy my daughter spent, trying not to become everything that I am in this world, I find it humorous, that observing my daughter now is comparable to a stranger looking into a mirror at herself. "God must truly have a sense of humor." I said to myself. Let me start from the beginning.

On my fifty-first birthday, the shrill ringing of the telephone, interrupted the gloomy and depressive mood I was in. I thought to myself, if I hear one more I wish you a happy birthday, I will disconnect all means of communication in my house!" The last thing I wanted was to be constantly reminded of this day. Of course, by the time I turned sixty-one, I had a new attitude and was just thankful to still be here and in good health.

The stranger on the other end of the phone, took me completely by surprise. The pleasant female voice that sounded vaguely familiar, asked me if she could treat me to lunch for my birthday. This was the first time this stranger called me with an invitation, and I was speechless. Then the calls kept coming, with other invitations to movies, shopping trips, and dinner theaters. Finally, to top it all off, the gifts started arriving on my doorsteps. It was not unusual, for my neighbors to see the UPS, U.S. MAIL and FED EX trucks either coming to or leaving my house.

After three or more encounters with this pleasant, caring,

and generous human being, I came to the realization that this person was indeed my very own daughter. I was filled with mixed emotions. I was thankful, amused and a little apprehensive all at the same time.

My daughter's metamorphosis presented itself in six stages. The first being babyhood. I treated the apple of my eye, as if she was a real live doll baby. I matched everything that I adorned her in. From her laced soft socks, colorful silk hair ribbons and hand knitted a gowns and bootie sets. I never grew tired of dressing her up. Because she had so many outfits to choose from, I sometimes would change her two to three times a day. Whenever I entered a room, her whole round and chubby face would light up. She called me MA! MA!

The second stage was called childhood. The apple of my eye could not get enough of being with me. She begged to accompany me on shopping trips, hair appointments, outings and even some boring meetings. She called me MOMMY!

The third part of her evolution was pre-teen. Wherever I was, is where my precious daughter did not want to be. She made her own plans with her friends, as if no prior approval from either me or her father was needed. One day, I actually followed her in my car around the neighborhood and kidnapped her. That was the quickest way I could get her to go with us to our family's annual cook-out. She called me OH! MOM!

Then one fateful day, that I will never forget, the stranger appeared. She came into the fourth stage called teenager. She looked okay, actually she was rather pretty. She was tall and slim in a model's type of way. She loved doing all sorts of things with her hair. She never spoke much, at least to the members of her household. We all knew she could talk, because we over-heard her laughing and talking on the telephone for hours at a time. She even survived me dragging her down a flight of steps. I'm not proud of how this one encounter came about and ended, but it was necessary at the time. There comes a time in every male and female child's development, when they have to test the strength and endurance of the same sex parent.

My daughter's test for me, reared its ugly head on the day we purchased her new clothes for her junior year of high school. My feet were aching, my stomach was churning and my bank card was now below my ten dollar limit. I didn't notice how silent she was all the way home from the shopping center. Once I pulled in front of the house, before I could completely stop, she unlocked her door and jumped out. Upon entering the house, she ran straight to her room. It never occurred to me, why she left her bags in the car. I assumed it was an oversight on her part.

She met me halfway up the steps, with her hands on where her hips would one day be. "You forgot your bags". I said. The words from her mouth and the movements of her body, let me know that I had to get on top of the situation.

"That's why I don't like being with nobody in this house! Nobody in here have any taste in fashion!" She spewed the words out, while pointing her index finger and rolling her neck around.

By fashion, if you mean that short a-s mini skirt and see thru blouse, that I had no intentions on buying for you, then you're correct!" I shot back at her.

Then came the final straw. "Why we so poor? What you do with all your money? You can't even afford the shoes that I really wanted!" She hissed.

Before she could finish her next sentence, I made sure that it was her last sentence.

"Well since you won't be wearing these cheap a-s clothes, I will donate them to someone who really will appreciate them!"

With that I grabbed a handful of her fresh hairdo that I had sacrificed cancelling my own hair appointment to pay for and proceeded to drag her down step by step. Thank God we only had five steps before we reached the bottom.

"And since we are poor, you can go somewhere else to eat, watch your own television and talk on the telephone!"

With that last statement I opened the front door and pushed her out onto the porch.

"What am I going to wear to school tomorrow?"

"I have no idea. But you won't be wearing these cheap clothes I bought for you!"

I calmly called my mother and asked her, "can you please come to pick up your one and only granddaughter?, before I kill her." Also deep down, I knew she would be safe staying at my mother's. Regardless of what was going on between the two of us, she was still my daughter and I would do anything for her, except buy her the whorish clothes she wanted. My dear mother showed up without any questions asked. I'm pretty sure she had been in similar situations before, I certainly remember my test. During this stage of her metamorphosis, she didn't call me anything.

The fifth stage was known as young adulthood. She actually asked our advice on some of her life changing events. She sought our input as to what technical trade school to attend, where to live and what mode car would be a good deal. the best deal. It was nice communicating with her on this new level, even it was just so her father and me would co-sign for all the above. She called me MOTHER.

So now when my lovely daughter, who now has a beautiful daughter of her very own, introduces me to her friends as "MY MOTHER," I stick out my chest with pride and gratitude, as I gaze upon the lovely butterfly that finally has evolved.