Memories from Colin Ritchie

      It's hard to think about an anecdote for Mom because she's Mom... she's always been there.  There is no "when I first met her".  There is no "what's unusual about my mom" because she is my definition of normal.  All the other kids’ moms were the weird ones.  They didn't go camping, they wore inelegant clothing, they were catty and unsupportive of their spouses, and they were boring and not so bright.  Not at all normal, like my mom - adventurous, elegant, dedicated and supportive wife, engaging, and smart.

      One thing I can tell you is how much I drove her nuts as a kid.  When I was 4, we had a great relationship.  We would play with my train set in the kitchen and just talk about stuff.  The topics were limited, of course, but we got along well.  Then school started, and I developed a few behaviors that she could not stand or even understand.  Most mothers mourn when their child becomes a teenager; Mom rejoiced.  Before I turned 13, my reckless disregard for schoolwork and grades vexed her greatly, I stole anything that wasn't nailed down, and I ate everything I could get my hands on.  I covered my tracks, but I didn't put much effort into it - usually it was just a delaying tactic.  Empty girl scout cookie boxes went back into the freezer, empty lemon bar packages went back into the pantry, and gallons of milk with just a sip remaining went back into the fridge to be discovered at dinner.  Homework was hidden away, notes from teachers got buried in the backyard, and report cards got "lost" on the way home.  This led to a very adversarial relationship with mom - she was trying everything in the world to get me to improve, or at least put in some effort; I was simply ignoring it.

      Consequences, no matter how dire, were not a deterrent. Then one day in 9th grade, I failed a physics test that I thought I should have passed, and I went home and cried to my mommy.  That gave mom the first glimmer of hope; I cared enough about something to put in effort, and the outcome mattered to me. We sat down and talked about it, and it was the first time since I was 4 that we were able to just talk.  From that day forward, I started putting effort into things - homework, chores, and relationships - and my mom, without the constant pressure of having to deal with my feral behavior, was able to become my friend instead of my zookeeper.  She was a much better friend.