During part of the trip, my mom and Aunt Debbie were talking back and forth about some of the stuff their parents used to do that would drive them crazy. Eventually it came up that grandma and grandpa wouldn't go to their football games and support them when they were younger. My mom was in the marching band, and Aunt Debbie was in color guard.
During the conversation, my mom was like "You know, it wouldn't have killed them to go to one of our games and just say 'good job' once in a while," and Aunt Debbie expressed her agreement.
At that point, I spoke up from the back seat and said, "Hey Mom... When was the last time you told me I did a good job on something?"
Kevin threw me a look; the same look he always gives me whenever I dare to poke the beehive.
My mom took only a couple seconds to respond: "Two days ago. You'd dusted the living room or something, and I said you did a good job and thanked you."
I replied, "No, all you said was 'thank you.' You didn't say 'good job.'" I decided to leave out the other half of the story, about how she also nagged and yelled at me the whole day about dusting the furniture to no end even after I said I'd do it. That "thank you" was more like an exhausted "FINALLY..." by the end of it. She never trusts me to get anything done.
After my response, my mom wasn't sure what to say. She paused for several seconds, and finally just said "You know, I'd have to think about that," and then promptly changed the subject and continued talking with Aunt Debbie.
How perfectly does this story illustrate my entire relationship with you, Mom. Over and over I tell you why I don't worship the ground you walk on, but instead of admitting your shortcomings and trying to fix anything, you breeze past it and deem it unimportant.
I can't say I haven't tried.
Nothing will ever change your mind but you.