The Parents Made Me Do It

I taught two fitness classes in the early am today. As I'm shuffling myself from a cycle to yoga it begins to pour. At that moment, I notice that my seat belt isn't fastened and as always I think of my mother, who didn't believe in seat belts and refused to wear them; during my impressionable years, no less. Yes, my mom has been dead for almost ten years now but, when I neglect my own safety, there is a part of my mind that is blaming my mother. Then I sigh, because I am a mother, and I wonder what I'll be on the hook for years from now.

It's not rational or charitable to blame her, I realize, but there it is. She had a fear that she'd be trapped in a car after an accident and be unable to get her seat belt open. She was also part of that last generation, where it was more common for women not to drive and she never did. During the car pool years, when my sister, who also has six children, and I would get together and commiserate about our packed schedules; we wondered if instead of being a coward maybe mom was a genius.

Is anything more unproductive than blame? I have a triathlon this weekend. Sometimes I catch the blame for a potential bad race spinning around in the back of my mind. Nothing compelling, just the usual list of work, injuries, global warming... you know. The list is on standby, just in case. In every rational moment, of course, I know I am solely responsible for the outcome of that race; just like I'm responsible to remember to fasten my seat belt.

Maybe it's best to not even acknowledge those half formed thoughts that we'd never speak out loud unless, of course, on the internet. But I suspect they affect us more than we'll ever know. So for today, I'll fasten that seat belt, prepare for the race, think fondly of my mother, and try not to give my own children too much material for the back of their minds. By the way, they do all wear their seat belts so there's hope their children won't place any blame at all. But I doubt it.