I used to cry every time I heard my girl sing. It became, and still is really, a long-standing joke for them now…little shits. But there is something that happens for every Mama I think, when you see or hear, the essence of your children. I don’t just mean those typical proud moments…when they walk, they go to school, they’re in a school play, they get an award…those proud moments. I mean those things, that they don’t see you see…the things that you watch, grin at, laugh at…cry at.
Well, when my girl sings, performs, I howl like a little bitch lol. Some if it is because she sings in our native language …which none of us, in our family, speak fluently. I won’t go into the colonial ramble at the moment…but needless to say, our language was one of the first things the colonialist shredded from our culture. There has been a huge revitalization over the past 20 plus years, but it’s not a journey I have started yet. Partially my issues with…not being a ‘real Maori’…being to white…being side tracked with a few other fucked up issues throughout the years.
But I knew enough, by the time my children were with me again, to put my girls in a bilingual school. Which meant they were able to be part of their language and culture without feeling like it was foreign. My eldest embraced it. My youngest, embraced it and strangled the shit out of it!
There is something ancient that I feel when I hear the rawness of what is/was ours, as first nation people’s. And hearing it come from my girls, is beyond amazing. Then there’s the singing side of it. I love music. I love nearly all music; I possibly have a bit of trouble with death metal and classical…but I can appreciate the lyrics of the first and the minor keys of the latter. Overall though, if it touches my soul; makes my toes tap; makes the hips swing or the head nod…I’ll listen over and over. And for me, a lot of my memories are attached to music. I might not remember a year; a date; a particular event in the sequence that it took place; but I can tell you where I was when I heard a particular song; what I felt like; what was happening around me…I love my music. It soothes me.
And when my girl sings in our old language, I cry…I unashamedly cry. Not unhappy tears…just proud, soul wrenching, loving, beautiful Mama tears.
I thought I didn’t have anything to do with her singing…I wouldn’t describe my own voice as Mariah Carey’s soul sister or anything. But, I love music…and I’d forgotten, till my recent unfolding, that I sang to them all the time. From the time they stepped out of the womb…I sang to them.
I think it was probably my way of showing affection. Touch is not really my thing! At all. I pretty much dislike it a lot, ALOT! But I can convey how I feel, about me, to them, when I sing to them. And I love them dearly.
Well, my youngest Moko (grandchild), who is nearly one, has been here all week with her Mama, my youngest girl. And I sing to my Moko all the time too…and she loves it. It’s the first time I’ve really recognized that the babies, my babies, respond to it. And this little Moko midget is just beautiful…she sits on my lap, waves her hands in the air, turns out her palms and looks at me. I say to her…’do you want me to sing your song?’, and she claps her hands. So we sing…she does the actions and then laughs.
Watching her, and my daughter, through the week, I realized how much I’ve impacted positively on my gene pool lol! I have been so scared of damaging them all…only to discover that they love and get how I love them.