Generations

She is the sort of mother who often cannot hear what I say. Not because she is a bad mother, but because she is not the sort of person to hear what I have to say. This is because I say very theoretical things, and she is a very practical person. Her eyes go flat almost as soon as I begin to say one of these theoretical things, and I can tell she does not listen, though she hears me speaking to her. She is proud of me, and thinks I am intelligent, because I try and tell her theoretical things, but she does not care to understand, and so she thinks she cannot.

I am the sort of daughter who often cannot hear what she says. Not because I am a bad daughter, but because I am not the sort of person to hear what she has to say. This is because she says very practical things, and I am a very theoretical person. I can tell that my eyes go flat almost as soon as she begins to say one of these practical things, and I do not listen, though I hear her speaking to me. I love her, and I think she is wise, because she tries to tell me practical things, but I do not care to understand, and so I cannot.

Perhaps I, too, will be the sort of mother who will not be able to hear what my daughter says. Not because I am a bad mother, but because I may not be the sort of person to hear what her sort of person has to say. It may be because my daughter will be the sort of person who says very practical or very, very theoretical things, and I am a very theoretical person, neither very practical nor very, very theoretical. My eyes may go flat almost as soon as she begins to say one of these practical or these theoretical things, and she may be able to tell I do not listen, though I will hear her speaking to me. I will be proud of her, of course, and love her, and will think her both intelligent and wise, and she may try and tell me things, practical or theoretical, but they may well be things that I will not or cannot understand.