Columnist finds she and mom have some things in common

Roxy Hammond

Roxy Hammond

When I was younger, people always told me that I would grow up to be like my mother. It happens to all girls, you know. It’s like getting fat and grey haired-it’s just fate.

I would always scoff at them and insist that I would grow up cooler than my mom. There would be no waist-high old woman jeans or getting drunk on wine and doing that sway-step dance in the middle of the living room while singing Boston slightly off-key. I wouldn’t even OWN a sweater with any sort of appliqué on it. Oh no, I would be a hip mom.

But as I’m getting older, I’m finding that fate is twisting its sly fingers around my mannerisms, and wouldn’t you know, I am acting more like my mother.

I started watching several Damn Yankees music videos on YouTube recently. As in, the super group, NOT the musical. I suddenly and inexplicably got the insatiable urge to listen to them. Well, after a few weeks of this, I went back to Mitchell to visit the family, and one night after going out with my friends, I came home to find my mother watching Damn Yankees videos on YouTube. We had not spoken about this beforehand.

I walk into the computer room to find her singing along (slightly off-key) to one of my favorite Damn Yankees songs. As the music drifted out of the speakers and my mom’s falsetto tone, I wondered to myself if I had stepped into some twilight zone where moms and 20-something daughters did the same dorky things in their spare time.

Oh no. Already at the age of 22 I’m sharing musical taste with my mother. Does that mean when I’m 30 I’ll start wearing camel-toe pants and poorly-applied green eyeshadow?! What about 35?? Will I start reading romance novels?!!?


I’ve already developed a taste for Boone’s Farm (Sangria is her favorite, Fuzzy Navel is mine), and I enjoy the occasional bath while drinking BF and listening to music. My mother has gotten to the point of simply referring to it as a “bath with Harry” (Connick Jr., that is. They’re apparently on a first-name basis); but I usually don’t light candles.

My mother and I already share the same perverted sense of humor, and half the time, she can make ME blush. Some of my friends would never even dream of discussing things like birth control with their mothers ? while mine practically ambushes me with it. Most of the people that know me are probably not at all surprised by that statement.

Of course, this all makes sense. One of our largest elements of socialization is our parents. What we don’t pick up from our peers, the media, etc., we tend to absorb from good ol’ mom and pop. This has teenagers everywhere running in fear.

But, I would like to think that the traits I’m picking up from my mom are what make her awesome. Because let’s face it-Boone’s Farm and Damn Yankees?-my mom is awesome.

And maybe some day I will have jeans that go up to my boobs, and I will think sweaters in various shades of purple are pretty stylish. Hopefully then I will have teenage daughters to make sure my bright purple eye shadow is properly blended.

Until then, I’m gonna listen to my Damn Yankees. And realize that maybe being like Mom isn’t so bad after all.

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