The Favorite One

 

I’m pretty sure I was her favorite.  I mean, how could I not be? I’m chatty (if not a tad mouthy and a little sarcastic), I’m a ready and willing lunch buddy (a requirement if you wanted to hang with Liz) and I’m always up for a Target-run at 10:55 PM for plastic storage totes and a label maker for an all-nighter closet cleaning party (she really adored organization).  So out of all seven of us kids, I’m confident she loved me best. 

Only problem is, we ALL thought that.  Ask any of us (in the absence of the other six) and we’ll tell you in a hushed tone so as to accentuate the importance of this honest moment, that we were her favorite child.  It was obvious by the way she made us feel about ourselves.  Like we were the most talented, most important, most cherished person on the planet.  Like we were the only thing that mattered to her.  Really mattered.  Like we were capable of anything we set our mind to and she would be there to support whatever that thing was.  Cheering us on.  Giving us a knowing nod, a wink and an embrace that said, “I never doubted you.” 

This is what a good mother does.  She makes her children feel like they are better, smarter, and more talented than they really are, even in the face of evidence that probably suggests otherwise.  She leads them to believe they are the preferred sibling.  And after years of that subtle ego-boost, her children actually start to believe it.  They think they are amazing.  And they try amazing things.

Mom’s Life Lesson #8

Make People Feel Important.

For people will forget the words you say.  They will forget the things you do.  But they will never forget the way you made them feel.

Mom understood this better than anyone I know.  And it didn’t stop with her children.  If you were her friend, chances are you thought you were her best friend.  If you were her sister-in-law, chances are you thought you were closer than all those ‘others’.  If you were her co-worker, you undoubtedly thought she liked you just a little bit more than anyone else.  And if you just met her while in line at the grocery store, you surely felt like you just saved a couple of hundred bucks on your therapist’s couch.

And you would be right.  For Mom loved people.  Really cared about them. And when you were with her, you truly were her favorite person on the planet.  It was a gift.  One that came naturally.  She didn’t even have to work at it. 

 Liz's Favorite Grandchild

The rest of us are left to just try to emulate her.  I admit, I have to fake it a lot.  I want to believe that my daughter’s talent show song is American Idol quality, but when I don’t, I have to make her think I do.  I really strive to be interested in my neighbor’s grandson’s college plans, but I’m not.  So I feign interest and ask another question, “So how did Danny do on those SATs?” I like the idea of befriending that total stranger at the airport, but hiding behind my Kindle and pretending I’m hearing-impaired comes more naturally.  But I branch out anyway and strike up a conversation.  I can tell you all about the sheet-metal business started by that lovely lady and her father who sat next to me on my last Oakland-bound flight.  Because that’s what Mom did.  And the world could use a little more of Liz’s style, Liz’s sincerity, Liz’s friendship.

And certainly, my home could use a little more of Liz’s parenting style.  So everyday, I strive to make each of my three girls believe they are my favorite. That they can do anything, be anything, create anything. Even though I might have to fake it.    

And so, on this Mother’s Day, even in the face of evidence that probably suggests otherwise, I persist in believing that I was her favorite.  You can too.  And we’d both be right.