It’s All Your Fault!

My Mom and her kids. Linda, Katie, Johnny and baby Angie

I bet that headline got everyone’s attention. I would venture a guess that at one time or another we have all muttered those words to someone- or screamed them maybe.

In my crazier years, back in the late 60’s and all of the 70’s- I used to blame my mother for everything bad. My father and my step father too. I blamed teachers, bosses, boyfriends and anyone else who was handy, for my shortcomings.

I would call my mother in the middle of the night, crying and crazy and say things like it’s your fault I’m crazy, it’s dad’s fault I drink too much and it’s your fault I’m crazy. My mother would say something like- “Stop drinking and you won’t be crazy.” And then I would hang up on her.

Kids are a product of who their parents make them, yes, they really are, but at some point in time- we have to take responsibility for our own actions and stop the blame game.  

The blame game usually goes back several generations. My mother blamed her mother for dying when she was 8 years old and leaving her to fend for herself. And I remember my great–grandmother telling me (in her 80’s) her mother was very cold and had no love for her and that made her distant her whole life.

I came to the party a little late. But, I got there. At some point in time, my sisters and I started calling my mom a character builder and giving her credit for our good stuff. We took what we liked from our respective fathers and ignored the rest. My older sister adopted her dad’s ability to rough it and find adventure,  my little sister got her dad’s sense of humor and some artistic qualities, and I have to give my dad credit for my amazing ability to research/investigate anything.

My son was doomed from the start. His dad and I both shared some quirky – if not downright bad character traits. I tried not to make all the same mistakes my parents made, but still there were times when I was less than a stellar parent.

If my son blames me for his problems (assuming he thinks he has problems), I have never heard him say so.  Once in awhile he will infer he picked up some crappy character trait from me- but it never feels like blame- just a fact. (Perhaps, I am in denial?) He does give me credit for some good stuff, so I’m glad I didn’t have to die in order to get some kudos.

So, when should we stop blaming our parents? That is the big question. Should it be the minute we start making our own choices? Should it be 18 or 21 or 25 or 28? Should it be when we have our own kids? Should it be about the 100^th time we made a shitty decision and blamed everyone but ourselves? YES- to all of the above.

As long as we continue to blame other people for our problems, we are victims. The minute you stand up, take responsibility, recognize your shortcoming AND your attributes and take the steps to change for the better- you have entered the adult world. If you are crying the poor me song then you need to look at yourself through new eyes.

If you have kids of your own and you are making the same parental errors your parents made, STOP.  Just STOP. It’s not that hard. Make a list if you have to- of every bad parenting decision your own parents made- then put an X next to the ones that you are repeating- (I know you are.)  (Then throw the list away and forgive your parents because guess what? NO ONE- NOT ONE BABY- COMES WITH INSTRUCTIONS.)

The only people that are going to continue to play the blame game after that exercise are the ones who are happy in their misery- and who would rather not take responsibility for their own poor choices. That my dear friends, is like mental illness. There are medications for that. Albert Einstein is attributed for saying “ The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”  I’m fairly sure he didn’t say this but it’s a true statement. I proved it myself.

If you don’t address these issues- the constant blaming others for your problems, you may one day find yourself all alone. That is the only choice you leave the people you have blamed for your – read YOUR- problems.

So I’m going to blame my mom today- for making me a survivor. For my cooking talent, for my over abundance of self-inflicted self-esteem (deserved or not) and for all the story fodder. Thanks Mom. It’s all your fault I’m here to tell the story.

** In memory of my mom, Beverly Francis Arietta
^{B: July 10 1931 D. December 9 1984}