25 may 2005
Mama's Away Collecting Stories
by Sasha Aslanian
To hear the audio version of this Zone article click here
I’m flying over the dark landscape between Phoenix and Western Colorado on a nearly-empty commuter plane. Twelve hours ago I dropped my daughter off at a new day care. I wonder if she'll associate it with her mama never coming back.
When my husband picks her up tonight I wonder if his old trick of not mentioning me will work. It was something he devised when I had to go away for eight days when she was ten months old. Each day we held our breaths across the Atlantic, but his ploy seemed to work.
I am a journalist going away to collect stories again. I wonder if my job will someday impress my daughter. Will it matter that I brought back other people's stories to put on the radio? Will it make up for my not being there to pick her up today?
She came along on one of my first assignments four months after she was born. She and her dad came down to rural Alabama with me where I interviewed older blacks who had lived through the segregation of “Jim Crow.” I sat humbled, listening to stories that made me choke. I would run back across the Tuskegee University campus to find my blond husband and daughter strolling through the grounds. The place had adopted my little white family. I felt the privilege of being let into people’s pasts and the grace of forgiveness.
This time I couldn't bring Kaia along. The breastfeeding excuse ran out months ago.
My mother didn’t work when I was young. Photographs show her at age 25 tussling on the floor with my little brother and me. We drew pictures at the kitchen table as she cooked. She stroked my forehead when I was sick.
When I was 25 I imagined I would stay home with kids too.
Looking back I realize I picked up some other messages.
I was 10 when Mom moved out. Her new duplex felt like home because she was there. One day I found her talking excitedly on the phone. She hung up and did a very uncharacteristic pirouette around the living room singing out, "Your mother is going to be a teacher this fall!" I was pleased to be taken in to her happiness again.
She still has that job 25 years later.
Looking back at that scene, I know what it meant to me: I will never be in a desperate situation with two kids needing a job. I will always have one.
Recently I learned that I will be having another baby girl. “Good,” I thought to myself with relief. “Now I can really keep my job.” Odd, but for some reason I felt with two daughters it will be even more important to show them a woman who goes out into the world each day so they can one day see themselves in that world too.
I wonder what scenes—like my witnessing my mother landing her first post-divorce job—will make my daughters resolve to live their lives differently from mine?
I wish them even more confidence than I had and less confusion about what it means to be a nice girl. I hope that when dates drop them off who they don’t want to kiss, they will say so, rather than awkwardly letting the poor boy kiss gritted teeth, finally giving up in despair. I hope when they get their first job offers, and the promotions that follow, that they will feel strong enough to negotiate and not just be glad anyone wants them at all.
I think each generation gets a little stronger.
So, I keep collecting stories.
Only they will collect mine.
Sasha Aslanian is a producer for American RadioWorks, the documentary unit of American Public Media. She lives in St. Paul, Minnesota with her husband and two daughters. She serves on the MOMbo Board of Directors. |
