My mother once told me: don’t be a writer because writers starve.
Obviously, I was a good daughter.
If I’d get the chance to talk with my mother now, I’d tell her: but mommy, being what you wanted me to be was not a bowl of cherries either.
And then she’d tell me: but you’re not hungry right now, right?
And then I’d say: yes but a few months ago, I almost was.
She’d say: that’s because you don’t know how to drive a car and not because you are what I told you to be.
Of course I’d have the last word: mommy it’s your fault I can’t drive a car; you were so busy you couldn’t teach me.
In fairness to my mother, she is very much loved by her children and her husband. Unfortunately, she was a product of her times. And a product of her mother.