Fighting Words

I have a good relationship with my Mom. Still, we do occasionally fight. Back in high school, I used to duke it out full force, passionately defending my point until the spat reached a shrill peak and both parties stormed off to their respective corners to simmer. Since moving home post-college, my arguing style has morphed into a more passive technique adopted from a friend of mine. If a conversation is going nowhere, instead of waiting until I am forced to completely commit to a debate, I say the phrase, "I don't want to talk about it anymore." Usually, the remark is initially ignored. Mom keeps voicing her complaint. Thus, I am forced to say it again, this time much louder: "I don't want to talk about IT ANYMORE!" The second statement generally elicits a pause - an improvement, but still not enough to end the conversation. Third time is a charm. By that point, I am yelling, "I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT ANYYYMMMORRREEEE!!" - a shriek that is followed by silence.

I don't mean to suggest that avoiding talking about problems is an efficient way of solving them. I guess I am just at the point where I am grounded in my own personal perspective on things. I don't envision Mom changing her ideas on life and therefore don't expect mine to change much from sparring against hers. I am at my most unmovable when red-faced and irate. Mom does influence me though, more so in her day to day. When I come home from work and my coffee maker is magically clean, I want to be more organized. When I see her hot gluing Civics dioramas late into the evening, I want to be more involved. When I see her extend kind words to cashiers, waitresses, gas attendants and the like, I want to be more selfless. Most importantly, when I witness any of these actions I feel lucky to have her. . . even if she does drive me crazy from time to time.