Growing up, there was not
a night that went by that my
mom didn’t read to me before
bed. It was a ritual. After my
bath, I would choose a book or
two (or three, depending on
how fatigued my mom was) and
crawl into her lap. My process
of choosing the right books was
anywhere from immediate to
a whole production up until
my mom threatened to cancel
storytime altogether unless I
decided quickly. I’d stand at my
bookshelf, taking in the distinct
smell of old wood and paper, and
select our stories for the night.
I generally gravitated to the
same books over and over again,
but one of the greatest joys of
my childhood was trips to the
library with my mom. It was
here where my mom and I spent
time exploring and traversing
the shelves for our next story.
I spent a lot of time picking
out the perfect books for the
week ahead. There was one
time when I was so engrossed
by the selection of potential
books that I ignored my bladder
signaling to me it was time to
go; I peed myself in the middle
of the library just because I
wanted to keep looking at the
books. I thankfully had my mom
standing close by to hand me
her sweater and help me cover
my new dark blue pants. As
humiliating as that experience
was at the time, my mom and I
frequently laugh about it to this
day in a shared remembrance of
all of the memories we shared
at the library. The library not
only offered me quality time
with my mom but also instilled
in me a passion for reading that
I continue to foster. Without the
time I spent with my mom in the
library and during storytime,
I don’t know if I would be the
reader I am today. Below is a
short tour of some of my and my
mom’s favorite books found in
the library and on my shelves.
“Corduroy”
by
Don
Freeman
I’ve always felt attached to
this book, probably because
I used to think my stuffed
animals were alive. Maybe their
perceived sentience was the
result of growing up in the age
of “Toy Story,” or maybe it was
just because I’ve always had
an overactive imagination, but
I was never able to shake the
feeling that my stuffed animals
had their own wants and desires.
Corduroy is a toy bear who wants
to be taken home. When a girl’s
mother realizes he is missing a
button, she refuses to concede
to her daughter in her desire
to buy Corduroy. After this,
Corduroy commits to finding his
lost button to ensure that, next
time, he is taken home. Though
Corduroy fails to find a button,
his friend from the day before
comes back ready to purchase
him
with
her
own
money.
Corduroy gave me the one thing
I’ve always loved in a story — an
adorable underdog to fight for.
The nights that my mom and I
read this book, I always held my
own toy bear a little tighter.
“Where Do Balloons Go? An
Uplifting Mystery” by Jamie
Lee Curtis
I love Jamie Lee Curtis, not
only for her acting in my other
childhood
staple,
“Freaky
Friday,” but also for her superb
ability to write a children’s book.
When I was younger, I thought
this book was genius. Everyone
wants to know where balloons
go, especially six-year-old me.
I loved this book because I got
to imagine with my mom all the
places my lost balloons could be.
Nothing was off-limits with this
book: tangoing with airplanes,
floating next to the sun or
just laying down and relaxing.
Another plus to this book (and
maybe the main reason I kept
coming back to it) was the
reusable balloon stickers that
came with it. Maybe all authors
should include stickers in their
books so that readers will
remember the book, even years
later.
“Walter the Farting Dog”
by William Kotzwinkle
When I start thinking about
the books my mom and I used to
read, this is the first book that
comes to mind. Simultaneously
a story about a thwarted home
invasion attempt and a tale
of
unconditional
love,
this
author definitely knows how
to get his readers invested.
Our protagonist, Walter, is a
farting dog. His unrelenting
toots smell putrid no matter
what diet his family puts him
on. The father is just about to
send Walter back to the pound
for his flatulence when Walter
saves the family from burglars
by letting out “the worst fart of
his life,” which smells so bad
that the thieves have to leave
the house immediately without
stealing a single thing. When
I was younger, I remember
thinking this book was the
peak of comedy. I still don’t
know if I’ve ever laughed as
hard as when my mom and I
first read this book. Perhaps
it was because the author says
the word “fart” so much, or
maybe it was just because of
the absurdity of the story itself,
but I couldn’t get enough.
“Dear Lady Bird, when I
got pregnant with you, it was a
miracle.”
The letters that Marion (Laurie
Metcalf,
“Roseanne”)
writes
to her daughter are never read
aloud. She never gives them to
her because she is afraid that
Lady Bird (Saoirse Ronan, “Little
Women”) will “judge her writing
abilities.” Lady Bird only sees
them because her father (Tracy
Letts, “Ford v. Ferrari”) fishes
them out of the garbage and
sneaks them into her suitcase
before she leaves for college. You
have to pause the film to be able
to read the crumpled letters. So
much of the love in this film goes
unspoken in hopes that it might
hurt less.
“Lady Bird” is a coming-of-age
story about Christine, who asks to
be called Lady Bird, as she exits
high school and grapples with
her relationship with her mother.
There’s no shortage of writing
about this film out there, but I
do sometimes feel that discourse
about the film centers on Lady
Bird as an individual rather than
in relation to those around her. We
see ourselves in her as a heroine
taking on the world because that
is what high school feels like.
It’s hard to remember that our
mothers once felt the same way.
Really, I think that Lady Bird is
a 21st-century Holden Caulfield,
and Greta Gerwig (“20th Century
Women”) is our J.D. Salinger.
Lady Bird is a bitter, mean, clever,
funny, original conformist. We
identify with her as much as we
resent her. She wants to “live
through something.” Ironically,
she just witnessed 9/11 the year
before, but the things that happen
in our lives never seem as earth-
shattering as they do in books, do
they?
It’s the impetus of her first
on-screen fight with her mother.
Her mother, who was raised by
an abusive, alcoholic mother, feels
that Lady Bird has a “great life.”
In a lot of ways, she does, but she’s
not just looking for the bottom
rows of Maslow’s hierarchy of
needs. Lady Bird desperately,
desperately wants an adventure.
She feels that the real stories only
happen in proximity to her: her
theater director grieves for his
son, her first boyfriend worries
about coming out, her second
boyfriend has a father dying of
cancer. The problems in her life
feel so small in comparison.
Gerwig does an incredible job
of tricking us into thinking the
same thing. A story about Lady
Bird’s brother watching someone
get stabbed is bracketed by the
phrase “Immaculate Fart.” At
the psychiatric ward where
Marion works, a patient tries to
hurt someone or themselves off-
screen. While Marion admits
that it was scary, she simply says
that they’ll have to go back to
felt-tip markers and hands her
coworker a gift for his newborn
daughter. Lady Bird actually
jumps out of a moving car on
the highway, and Gerwig is able
to make us laugh instead of cry
about it. It feels like when you’re
telling a story about your life at
a party, and only when you say
it out loud do you realize how
fucked up it actually is.
In 2012, my family went to see
“Brave,” Pixar’s newest installment,
in theaters while on a trip to Boston.
I was 12 years old at the time, and my
older sister was in high school; she
and my mom had been fighting a lot,
going through the classic teenage-
girl-versus-mother-tension. In the
theater, everyone in my family had
something different to enjoy. While
I focused on the jokes, my mom and
sister seemed to focus more on the
heart of the story: the relationship
between Merida (Kelly Macdonald,
“No Country for Old Men”) and her
mother Elinor (Emma Thompson,
“Cruella”).
The film instantly sets up the
differences between Merida and
her mother. Merida, with her wild
red hair, chafes at the way her life
is planned out. Her freest moments
are those when she is alone with her
horse, her bow and the surrounding
natural landscape; her most limited
moments are those when her mother
is preparing her to be the queen of her
land by teaching the expectations of
a princess, which Merida despises.
On the other hand, Elinor is hesitant
to let her daughter take paths that
go beyond the tradition that she is
used to. Elinor sees her lessons and
the conditions that she imposes
on Merida as ways to guarantee a
secure future; Merida sees these as
restrictions and therefore believes
that her mother is the barrier
between her and the future she
wants for herself.
“Brave,” Pixar’s first film with
a female protagonist, caught the
attention of audiences with its
incredibly detailed animation, strong
Scottish brogue and the deliberate
exclusion of a romantic subplot. This
last aspect is not something to take
lightly — Merida’s declaration of “I’ll
be shootin’ for mah own hahnd” is
a groundbreaking, not to mention
iconic, departure from fairy tale
tropes. In “Brave,” no one gets to
win Merida’s hand without her own
consent.
This becomes the boiling point
of tensions between Merida, who
values her freedom to the point of
selfishness, and Elinor, who values
tradition to the point that she ignores
her daughter’s happiness. Words
fly; a tapestry, meant to depict the
bond of family, gets torn. Merida
consults a witch (Julie Walters,
“Mamma Mia!”) and gets a potion
meant to “change” her mother —
specifically her entrenched beliefs
— and inadvertently turns her into a
bear. It’s an extreme beginning to a
reconciliation, but it effectively forces
them into a position where they have
to listen to and learn from each other.
One of the things I love most about
“Brave” is that the female characters
and relationships are not diminished.
Elinor and Merida’s quiet conflict,
while taking on an admittedly
oversized obstacle (i.e., transforming
into
a
bear),
is
sophisticated
and complex compared to the
cartoonishly overdone masculinity
of the clansmen. Additionally, both
Elinor and Merida carry incredible
power. When they walk through
the room, the men stop fighting and
create a path; when they speak, people
listen. The clashes between them are
not characterized as “catfights” or
stupid conflicts based in jealousy.
When they fight, it’s because they are
both independent and strong; when
they make up, it’s because there is
still room in the world (and the film)
for two incredibly powerful women
to be on the same side.
The
transformation
of
their
relationship
is
admittedly
predictable,
filled
with
easy
metaphors
about
ruptures
and
healing, but the intensity of the
emotion is what gives it so much
power. A scene where Elinor and
Merida talk to their respective
sounding boards — Elinor’s husband
Fergus
(Billy
Connolly,
“The
Boondock Saints”) and Merida’s
horse Angus — moves back and forth
between them as they express their
free-flowing feelings, demonstrating
how the biggest problem between the
two of them, like most relationships,
is a lack of simple communication.
As Merida’s gotten older, they’ve
stopped rationally explaining their
hopes for fear of clashing, and they’ve
lost their ability to convey their
affection for each other. These rifts
are contrasted with moments from
Merida’s childhood — one shown
at the beginning of the film and
one shown as things become more
dire — that show scenes of affection
between mother and daughter.
Merida and Elinor hug each other
and look at each other with love as
if to show that their foundation is
unshakable, even when it feels as
though it’s being shaken.
I’ve always been deemed a bit of a
momma’s child.
Grabbing your hand or hiding
behind your leg, a scared child.
I knew I was safe from everything.
The boring world of math. The
dangers of human society.
Having crust on my sandwiches.
The only thing I wasn’t safe from
Was growing up.
So I did.
Because I had to.
I had to be a part of this family.
We joke that I look like no one in the
family —
Me, the wrong baby taken home
from a British hospital —
But secretly,
If I can say this honestly
I was always glad I looked most like
you.
One of your three kids had to.
It’s an honor that it’s me.
Because I get to.
I get to do these amazing things,
These many amazing things
That not everyone has the chance
to do.
Like attend a prestigious university,
Like tell stories for people who
want to listen,
Like care deeply for my friends and
family,
Things I strive to not take for
granted every day.
Because I have your support.
I have your support more like a best
friend than a mother,
A friend who loves and listens with
the fervor and wisdom of a mother.
It cannot be easy, I know
Seeing your child, the youngest of
the flock,
Turning 22.
Ready to graduate college.
Ready to move on and up and out.
To fly out of the nest and seek their
own destiny.
To define their own identity.
Because I am expected to.
I am expected to be okay with the
marching of time,
The
endless
and
unstoppable
forward momentum of time.
It is not easy, you know,
That your child, the youngest of the
flock,
Has turned 22.
They are not ready to graduate
college.
They are not ready to move on or up.
They are certainly not ready to
move out.
To seek their own destiny.
To define their own identity.
Because life is a lot scarier without
your leg to hide behind.
Without your leg to hide behind,
the shadows of adulthood look
much scarier.
Even when a light shines on them
and they go away, they are much
scarier.
Facing
them
alone,
venturing
through the woods
In the way a child must
Once they stop being viewed as
merely a child.
You can only pave the road so far,
Until I take your place.
Because I am expected to stand on
my own.
To stand on my own, with you on
the sidelines,
Passionately cheering me on and
providing orange slices.
My number one supporter and
biggest fan,
Reading articles about a digital
world you don’t always get.
My cheerleader dancing to Marcia
Ball,
Although it was never actually
Marcia Ball playing.
But you’d dance anyway and ask me
to join you.
And I would groan and giggle and
roll my eyes,
But I would join you anyway.
Because I would not be who I am
without you.
Without you, I would not have my
passion for music.
Because you created a place for me
and others to practice it.
Or my passion for reading.
Because you would buy me books
when I sped through them in a day.
For love. For helping. For listening.
Because you care so much about
others,
Putting the needs of those we love
at the forefront of our minds,
An endless well of love.
For crabs. For musicals.
Because there is no greater joy than
you digging into a crab the same
way
one digs into a great piece of art.
For my family.
Because without you, we would not
know who to be.
4 – Wednesday, October 27, 2021
Arts
Mothers, daughters and bears, oh my
A mother’s child
Forgiving our mothers
through ‘Lady Bird’
Farting fairy tales and other stories from my mom
KARI ANDERSON
Senior Arts Editor
There is no simple answer to the
question “What is motherhood?”.
Many of us think of mothers as
the figures who have supported us
our whole lives, from reading us
books as children to cheering us
on as adults, through triumphs and
setbacks. This B-Side makes sure to
pay tribute to this sacredness. But in
media, popular culture and life, all
sorts of moms exist. Some are overtly
disappointing, while others may get
away with too much. Some must
balance conventional motherhood
with nurturing their work. Some
fall victim to the ever-growing lens
of female sexualization that gets
aimed indiscriminately. But each is
still a mom. Don’t see what I mean?
These pieces say it better than I can.
— Andrew Pluta, Senior Arts
Editor
The Mom B-Side
ISABELLA KASSA
Daily Arts Contributor
MARY ELIZABETH JOHNSON
Daily Arts Writer
ANDREW PLUTA
Senior Arts Editor
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Design by Megan Young
Design by Tamara Turner
Design by SoJung Ham
Design by Tamara Turner
Design by Melia Kenny
M. DEITZ
Digital Culture Beat Editor
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Read more at MichiganDaily.com