The last few years I would say to be exact. But more so lately I’ve been discovering how similar of a path to my mother’s I’m walking. In every sense…I’ve begun to hear her phrases slip out of my mouth. Things I’d chuckle at as girl…like “did she really just say that?” Down to her mannerisms…things I’d nitpick about even. A larger issue in her(our) life was her want to constantly be in Europe. “You can’t just pick up and run away Charlotte.” people…family, and friends would tell her. When I got older and our life oversees became something of my past I, too, would say the same thing to her. “Home is the US mother, Los Angeles. All of our friends are here, our life is here.” She didn’t really agree. And after her divorce from my stepfather, she packed up and went to France first chance she could. Only coming back to the States to be closer to me…and because…she was sick…
But this is not supposed to be a sad post. So I will fast forward. Or rewind I guess, depending on how you look at it.
The other morning I woke up and it came to me…like WTF Taschka %4327@$#%$^!!! Even my love life is starting to mirrors hers! Well, not her love life, more her tastes I suppose. Maybe a little of both.
The two loves of my mother’s lives were…first and foremost my biological father Ricardo, a brilliantly, insanely, talented saxaphone player. Girls threw themselves at his band because of their musical ability alone. But it didn’t hurt that he was built, and towered over 6 feet and could charm the habit off a nun! Not to mention he came with a latin accent, given he was born and raised mostly in Panama in his younger years. Love number two was 6’3 Ferede H. A greek shipping tycoon with shaggy dark hair and skin so creamy you could bathe in it. I remember him coming to pick my mother up in a vintage Porsche convertable one day, and a Maserati another day. He could have been poor and she still would have fallen for his bad boy attitude and colgate smile. He was beautiful to put it simply. And he broke her heart. No one ever compared and compare she did.
“He’s a little weird, don’t you think?” She asked me after her first date with my stepfather. “And he’s got crooked teeth!”
“So what, he doesn’t look like a model. Give him a chance.” I told her. So she did. Thankfully, because for a few short years I had an almost “normal” life with a mom AND a dad. One parent would school me on politics and history, while the other explained why the seam in a Dior Homme dress shirt was worth the extra $200. And the art, and music I was surrounded with between them both was heaven. We were offbeat, but we fit.
All good things come to an end. And well after their divorce…while my mother was in france she said the most typical Charlotte thing ever. “He wasn’t wild or pretty enough for me anyways!”
The pretty ones are the ones that will get you into trouble. The unconventional are safe.
Even in typing that I know I will never follow my own advice. My mother, may she rest in peace, taught me everything I know.
There is no such thing as too much passion, or too pretty in my book.
Here’s to you mom. ❤