Still Need a Man to Validate Me

Life is like a pinball machine. The first time you play you have no idea what you're doing, but that's okay;  it's just fun and games anyway. There are rules, of course, but rules are for the more serious players. The cautious, thoughtful players learn over time how and why the intricate mechanics of the game play such an important role in whether they win or lose. As they pull the starting lever to put their ball into action, they are thinking ahead, preparing a game plan, anticipating the ball's trajectory, the path it will take as it bounces off one bumper and heads to the next. They also know there are dangers ahead. They're very aware of the dead-end gutters and the magnetic dead spots designed to trap them. There are some bumpers they want to hit and others they hope to avoid. As with everything, there's always that element of chance, but if you ask them for advice on how to play the game well, they will tell you to stay focused, and keep your eyes on the ball. Every move matters.

Those cautious, thoughtful pinball players mentioned above? That was not me. I not only didn't know how the game worked, I didn't care, and I didn't give much thought to any move I made. Quite often I allowed others to take control and play the game for me, because I didn't think I was capable of winning on my own. Why, I wonder now as I sit here at my computer writing this blog post, did I think that? Where did that mindset--I need a man to take care of me; I need a man to validate me--come from? Why was I not more like my friend, Becky Harper, who, at eighteen, knew there was nothing she couldn't do on her own, and in her short sixty-two years, she lived every day proving it. Will I ever in my lifetime figure this mystery out?

A few months before she passed away at ninety-two, I went to visit my mother at the nursing home she'd been in since 2012. As soon as I walked into her room, she motioned for me to come closer; she had something to tell me. "I like men," she said. "I know you do, Mother," I said and patted her hand. And I did know because in our lifetime together, she had told me that at least twelve hundred times. "No, Carol Louise," she insisted. "I mean I really, REALLY like men!" Then she put her hand to her mouth and giggled like a ten-year-old school girl would after telling her best friend a secret.

Over the years I have, out of necessity, become an independent woman. As a single mother, I bought a house, remodeled a house, went to college, secured a great job, raised a son...by myself. I don't need a man to take care of me, thank you very much. But do I still need a man to validate me? Youbetcha! I am, after all, my mother's daughter.