Because I gave birth to you

My Mother: Then vs. Now

I came across a quote that said grandparents seem to love their grandkids more than their own kids, and it got me thinking deeply about my mom. I’ve observed how age has changed my mother, though a “spark” of her former self remains.

I’ve shared many stories about my mother, whether through my Podcast Curious Stories or YouTube Channel @JC Zondi, how she ruled with an iron fist. As a child, I saw her behaviour as violent and unnecessary. However as I grew up, I understood the difficulties she faced as a single Black woman with knowledge rooted in traditional education, who left school early to raise a child, that’s me. However, as her son, writer and a psychology major & teacher, I believe she could have done better in nurturing and child development. Not every situation needed a firm hand, yelling, or blaming our deadbeat fathers for our behaviour.

Now, as a grandmother, she’s somewhat matured in how she treats kids. This can be frustrating for me because I wonder why she didn’t treat me like this. It’s sad to be jealous of kids, children, but I do feel a little envious because it seems in a way more comfortable for them. However, I mostly dislike it because the kids develop a lax attitude and feel entitled.

Am I being weird, a little bit yes.

I want my family to enjoy life and be comfortable enough to explore, but I also learned many lessons from the struggle. The struggle made me who I am, and I clawed my way out of that life. Seeing the kids live more comfortably should make me happy, and it does, but their behaviour worries me. I feel they should have some fear that drives them too.

I fear being broke, as I think everyone does. My fear is creating something and watching it burn because the following generations weren’t taught well enough to maintain or expand on it. This line resonates with a scene from the documentary Empire of Dust, where a Chinese man criticizes the behaviour of the African man. I don’t want to force kids to be like me; there are some parts of my childhood I’m not a fan of, and I want kids to explore on their own.

Anyway, I feel I’ve veered off topic. The focus was on my mother. As a grandmother, she’s doing well, but remnants of her old self remain, like the yelling, which I loathe. When my mom yells, she can be quite vile, something she picked up from her own mother. She says things that can be scarring, like “you’re fatherless,” “go back home,” or “I’ll put you back where you came out,” which is hurtful because this is my home, she chose my father and honestly if it was a choice, I’d go back to where she took me out from.

Every time I hear her yell, it’s like being transported back to the past, and I feel sick inside. I write this because yesterday, I wanted to cry when she was yelling at my nephew, he was being tasked to do many things at once. He didn’t have time to breathe, and neither did I. I saw myself in him.

I hated the statement “because I gave birth to you” It used to annoy me so much.

So, questions to myself and whoever is reading this: How do you have conversations with adults about their behaviour? Although I engage in dialogue with my moms, I sometimes struggle to have a real conversation with my mother because we live in different worlds. How do you dialogue with a traditional Black woman who raised herself: on lessons on how to raise others a little better? She will use defences like, “I raised you and you turned out well”. Hahaha, funny!

My mom raised me well, but she had many flaws. Now that I know how to tell her, it’s difficult because I have to see her in many layers that I have learned about her: as my mother, as an orphan, a traditional black woman, and someone unaware of Western academic norms which I grew up in. Navigating these factors is like walking on eggshells and broken bottles; I have to avoid breaking things but hope things don’t break me too.

“Stop yelling” might be my approach, but for her, yelling “worked” in the past. Maybe our first dialogue can be me telling her that yelling didn’t help and practically scarred me. When she yells, I hear ringing in my ears or simply want to walk away, which I did as a kid, headsets on and trapped in my own world. I feel less Zulu at times and prefer to walk away, clear my head, and apologise if I’m wrong. Apparently, my tribe hates that, well, that’s a conversation for another day.

My mom hates apologizing because she gave birth to us…actually, I don’t think I have ever heard her say sorry. Yet, she expects my little brother to apologize for the things he does. How can he, Mother, when he probably has not heard it from your mouth?

This writing took longer than I thought. The thought crept into my mind as a title while I was working out. Thirty minutes later, I find myself reliving childhood traumas. If you read this and you have something to say, to share, please write. It is when dialogue happens between different varying individuals that solutions are found.