Runs in the family
My mother often described me as a demonstrative little girl.
She always said it as if she was ever so slightly surprised. A maverick.
It’s not that my family was unaffectionate, it’s more that they felt no pressing need to demonstrate their love openly and certainly not publicly. Such things didn’t need to be said. A given. It’s a common enough theme, a cultural quirk of a certain generation and class, that doesn’t translate very well.
Every night my mother would tuck me into bed. She would pull the folded top sheet taught, snap, and tuck in the end. I was pinned tight and secure, “night, night dear,†she would say as she kissed me. I always wanted her to stay longer. I loved to be with her. I wanted to be kissed, cuddled and stroked into slumber, but that was only for babies.
When I went to boarding school at 11.
I quickly discovered that among my many faults, one of my more serious inadequacies was an inability to make a bed with hospital corners. Dormitories had to be ready for inspection before school. If your efforts weren’t up the mark, then the bed would be stripped for you to start again. Making a bed from scratch when you are half the size of the bed, is no mean feat. I failed at this feat on a daily basis. This failure led to additional failures. The time spent attempting to make the bed again, meant that I was late for class. If you were late for class there were penalties. I scored very highly in the penalty department and spent many a long hour in penance at the school chapel, praying for the ability to make a bed with hospital corners.
My prayers were answered and by mid term I had mastered the art of bed making. The bonus of superior bed making skills was that when you slipped between the chilly sheets after saying your prayers, if you were good at wiggling, you could hold your breath and shimmy into bed, and enjoy the tight hold of comforting bed linen. It was almost as if you were back at home. If you closed your eyes and squeezed, you could almost see your mother’s face among the fuzzy specks.
That was about as close as you’d get to a maternal influence. Although the nuns were dutiful and often kind, they were at best ‘Sisters.’ The nearest approximation was the Mother Superior but this was a misnomer if ever there was one. They were all untouchable, a message that was loud, clear and visible by the absence of hands, which lay beneath their habits, clasped in prayer.
I learned a great many useful skills during those long years in a cloistered environment. I learned how to run but look as if I was walking. When my older sister left, I had no translator. Instead of huddling in the toilets so that she could read me my weekly letter from my mother, I had to learn to decipher her scrawl for myself. I found night time entertainment in ouija boards and poker. How to recognize cards from the wrong side and how to read palms. I learned to whisper without moving my lips, and how to fold my skirt to protect my knees during the many endless hours of prayer. This is the true price of private education, a solid investment for your child’s future inheritance.
I’m glad to say that all my children are demonstrative and affectionate. This is no surprise to me, more of a delight. The girls wear their hearts on their sleeves, quick to anger but quick to forgive and forget. The boys are more volatile than the girls, which makes a lot of wild fires and flare ups. We females kiss our faces, lips, cheeks, foreheads and noses.
The boys? Well they’re a bit short in the social skills department. Whilst many boys of their age become aware of cooties, mine, so far, are blissfully unaware. They’ll kiss anyone, boys as well as girls. They know it’s a sign of affection, it matches and demonstrates a feeling. It’s not that they’re indiscriminent, far from it, but they’re impulsive and without peer pressure.
With me? Well, they kiss whatever is nearest, a knee, a hip, a forearm, an elbow. It’s all progress, because they’re so much taller these days. I predict with a certain degree of confidence that in the not too distant future, they’ll kiss the top of grey haired head, if I’m very lucky and play my cards right.
Poker not Old Maid please. 
Stumble it!
September 11th, 2007 at 1:56 am
Oh Maddy! This is exquisite! As one whose child does not yet give kisses with any real understanding of their underlying affection, I envy you your busses (wherever they may land)! And who knew you could learn such useful skills in a convent school! Poker indeed… LOL
September 11th, 2007 at 6:18 am
Let’s hope this continues! Lucky girl!
My kids now incorporate courtesy hugs into the mix. I have to take what I can get. Leo’s gut reaction is still in the defensive when someone moves in too quickly. My sister noticed this but her feelings didn’t get hurt. They had a nice snuggle the following day instead.
September 11th, 2007 at 6:28 am
Bet your mom didn’t have the same skill set in mind when she sent you to convent school. Glad it didn’t kill off the demonstrative part of you and that all your children have inherited it, especially the boys. Enjoy it to the fullest.
September 11th, 2007 at 6:32 am
when i was a teenager the convent girls were much worse than us!
one of the lovely things about my son is how he has no embarassment about hugging or kissing and makes sure to be fair with his dad and me. every morning he goes out and calls back “love you!” which not many 12 year old boys would do. there are some very good things about autism!
September 11th, 2007 at 6:34 am
I love the kisses I get from my boys. My parents were very un-demonstrative and I felt as a child like I was missing something. Thanks for giving us a peek into your past. I still can’t make beds properly.
September 11th, 2007 at 7:42 am
This is SO sweet. We are very demonstrative as well - my parents were not. My boy gives lots of hugs and kisses and I am so grateful!
September 11th, 2007 at 8:27 am
Sounds like you have a superior education!
Love that your boys give you kisses. It’s something that Little Bug loves to get, but is still trying to figure out how to give one himself. He has done it a few times… but I’m still looking for something consistant. A girl can dream, can’t she??
September 11th, 2007 at 8:31 am
It’s our job to correct the faults of our upbringing. No wonder Bossy feels overworked.
September 11th, 2007 at 8:32 am
PS did you take that photo of the card deck? A fave!
September 11th, 2007 at 9:19 am
Well, they kiss whatever is nearest, a knee, a hip, a forearm, an elbow. It’s all progress, because they’re so much taller these days. I predict with a certain degree of confidence that in the not too distant future, they’ll kiss the top of grey haired head, if I’m very lucky and play my cards right.
I love that paragraph. Having affectionate kids speaks volumes about the type of parent you are.
September 11th, 2007 at 1:11 pm
I have the same curt memory of my mother at bedtime, no ooey gooey cuddles, but love none the less.
September 11th, 2007 at 3:04 pm
“I learned how to run but look as if I was walking.”
Oh my God! Me too!! That’s an awesome skill to have. The bullies don’t think you’re running from them (when you are). And the teachers won’t stop you for running in the hallway. But it takes lots of practice.
September 11th, 2007 at 4:47 pm
This just takes me up short. Wonderful writing, you know, pulled out of a straitened childhood. And look what you’re doing now . . .
September 11th, 2007 at 5:19 pm
What an interesting background!
And I am pro affection and demonstrative-ness-itude (or whatever we call it.)
More KISSES!!
September 11th, 2007 at 7:10 pm
Beautiful post! And yes, more affection all around…
September 11th, 2007 at 7:13 pm
Kisses are so yummy
September 11th, 2007 at 7:15 pm
i did love that tightly tucked blanket over me - had nearly forgotten. I never had to do hospital corners, but I did crawl into bed from the top to keep it tightly tucked. Now, I don’t even make my own bed, and my daughter’s blankets are messily tucked all about her as she goes to sleep. But the kisses and hugs are plentiful, so I doubt she’ll miss the taut covers at all.
December 26th, 2007 at 1:36 pm
[...] This time of year when families gather, old memories come back as reminders, whether they are welcome or not. They are useful reminders that whatever you think is adrift in your current life, there is no way to accurately “predict the future.” [...]