Today my husband and I got into conversations about our lives as kids growing up. My fondest memories of my mother are of her being a spitfire that set people in their place. What was so interesting about our conversation is that I had just gone down this memory lane with my mother about a week ago. How ironic.

I asked my mother if she remembered the time my school (Jr. High) called her because they felt my skirt was too short. (This was when mini skirts had just come in style). “Oh Yes!” she told me and continued the story.

“When I got a call from the principal saying I needed to take you home to change your clothes, I got mad! I put on my shortest skirt which was just below my ass, and put on my GoGo boots! (My mother’s skirts were much shorter than mine.) I marched into his office and let him know I was not about to make my daughter wear anything different than I would! And if they didn’t like you showing your underwear, they shouldn’t have you bowling in PE in your skirt! (That was the reason I got into trouble). They should have the decency to let you put on shorts. I gave him an earful and the poor bastard didn’t know what to say, but he let you go back to class and I never heard anything again about the way you were dressed!”

As my mother recanted that story, I could hear the rebellous pride in her voice, and then she started giggling like a little girl. Moments like those in my life, watching my mother stand up for what she believed in, also taught me that it’s ok to question anything that I don’t agree with or feel comfortable about. It’s ok, to go against the grain, to be different from what everyone else is doing. My mom was never the greatest mom. But she had some great moments.

Now my mom is 78 and our relationship is better than it ever was. She is much more calm than she was when I was growing up, and people would never suspect the colorful life my mother had. But when I look at her now and those memories run through my mind, I understand why she is still so headstrong. It’s part of her DNA. It’s the accumulation of her experiences, good or bad. It took me a long time to get to this point where I could see her as all of that, instead of just being angry because she wasn’t the mother I wanted her to be.

I also realize that my journey with her is part of my accumulated experiences that have made me who I am also, and I am thankful I have her spitfire in me.