“Why in the world do you walk sideways like that?” said a Mother Crab to her son. “You should always walk straight forward with your toes turned out.”
“Show me how to walk, mother dear,” answered the little Crab obediently, “I want to learn.”
So the old Crab tried and tried to walk straight forward. But she could walk sideways only, like her son. And when she wanted to turn her toes out she tripped and fell on her nose.
“You should see the world,” my mother told me. She said this constantly, with different words or the same, in paragraphs of thought or a sudden burst of guidance. Mostly she would remind me of this when she stood alone in the kitchen. She would scrub the dishes, expend incredible energy on soap scum, and call to me in the dining room–“go see things out there!” Of course I’d know what she was referencing. I had been shown photos of monuments, been read biographies of French and Finnish leaders–I knew what places felt like.
I would sit in a corner of the living room, feeling. These places were not immediate to me. My places were, my places surrounded me and comforted me, and while I knew more places existed, I couldn’t imagine not feeling the same there. I walked often in my neighbor’s garden, peering at hidden flowers behind bushes, gently caressing petals, sometimes saying hello to my neighbor and often enjoying what she had to say. Other places, too, had flowers; and if they didn’t, they had other delicacies that played the same role for them as flowers did for me. Other places had people, too, amiable people, people who let you experience their flower garden with no commentary or question, and likely had people who lacked kindness or had no gardens.
I grew to understand that my mother had not seen things out there. “Out there” no longer meant Europe or South America. Her command–be cultured, experience more–was fair, was understandable, but she wanted much more for me than airplane tickets. I wanted more for me than airplane tickets.
Author’s note: The fable is provided above: “The Young Crab and His Mother.” This fable can be found in Aesop for Children, published in 1919. The moral at the end of the fable says, “Do not tell others how to act unless you can set a good example.” I hoped to start at a similar place with my story–to have a mother figure who longs for her child. I did not want to leave certainty at the end, however. I did not want an adage easily taken away. I did not want the daughter to rebel and disprove her mother. I wanted the mother’s wish to be general and good and one that most caregivers would feel. I wanted the child to see this and see other places and understand that her mother’s wish is well-intended and desirable. The fable has a point; one cannot be a hypocrite in relating to others. But for a mother who could not travel the world, desiring that her daughter travels is understandable and good. And for a daughter who doesn’t want to immediately travel the world, understanding her mother’s desire is preferable, too.
alicelbarrett 