I was eight years old when my mother told me I was a mermaid. She explained that being a mermaid is inherited through the distaff side of the family. This meant that not only was my mother a mermaid, but her mother was a mermaid, as well as her mother, all the way back through history to the beginning of time. I had always known that my mother was unlike the mothers of my friends but I had never admitted it even to myself. She possessed an enviable self-assurance that made her stand out in a world of average women. There was nothing average about my mother.
Imagine the North Pole. Now imagine the South Pole. Now imagine the distance of the gulf that separates them. That's how big the difference was between her parents, my grandparents. Two more disparate people never lived yet they met, fell in love, married and my mother was their child. It was almost as if her tiny soul at the moment of conception chose the strongest and best traits in the gene pool of her puissant parents, discarding the rest as riffraff and beneath her consideration as a woman of destiny in the making.
Her slight body belied the strength that coursed through every fiber and cell of her being. She had an exotic sloe-eyed beauty redolent of her father's Persian ancestors and from her mother she inherited a brilliantly ingenious mind. Life was a competition for my mother, a fierce competition which she had long ago determined to win. No job was too big or too tough for her. She rolled up her sleeves and got the job done, and done better than any one else could do it.
But don't think my mother was a single-minded workaholic, nothing could be farther from the truth. She worked hard and she played hard. My childhood was filled with laughter, no one could be more silly than my mother. Well, that may not be exactly true, my Nana was pretty silly. No childhood game that I devised was beneath my mother's dignity and she was a willing player in some pretty undignified schemes of my imagination. One of my favorite pastimes was making up small dramas with the two of us playing all the roles and improvising all the dialogue. Of course she excelled at this as she did at all things. She never tired of my witless games and always applauded my use of imagination and creativity.
Being a mermaid meant that on my 18th birthday I would receive my special power and there was no sure way to choose or divine what power would be thrust upon me as I began to emerge from my teenage fog of hormones gone amok. If I excelled in some endeavor, I immediately thought it was a premonition of the great power I would one day receive.
When Gucci, my fat orange marmalade cat, stood at the door pleading to go outside, I was certain my power would be complete understanding of all animal languages which meant I had better buckle down and get a good grounding in the sciences since I was destined for veterinarian school. And I did.
My Nana often asked me to rub her aching back because she said my small hands radiated a healing warmth that gave her great relief. In case healing was going to be my special power, I had to study subjects that would enable me to get into a good medical school. Praise for my Ramen soup recipe (add water and microwave) gave me daydreams of Le Cordon Bleu Paris and the need to learn enough French to peer haughtily down my Gallic nose at the rest of the world. Compliments on my drawings and sense of color might foretell a possible great future in the art world if I immersed myself in studies of the old masters and modern artists. Appreciation for my stories (Bizzy the Cat Knocks Himself Out) compelled me to study great literature and the craft of writing. And I did.
After the shock of my mother's pronouncement had begun to give way to acceptance and amazement at my newly learned family history, I bombarded her with questions that could only be answered by another mermaid. Why didn't I have a fish tail? Who was the first mermaid? Did she know other mermaids? Why couldn't I breathe under water? Did mermaids have to shampoo their hair? How do you saddle a sea horse? Could mermaids talk to dolphins? And to all my questions, she sagely answered, "Go ask your Nana".
My Nana was a singular person, odd, eccentric, iconoclastic, witty and wonderful. She loved me without condition or thought. I knew she harbored many secrets and I considered her the keeper of all knowledge. Her intellect sparkled and her thirst for learning was immeasurable. Her voracious mind propelled her from one subject to another then ricocheted on to the next field of endeavor until her interest was piqued by yet another topic which was soon brushed aside as she became galvanized by something even more arresting. Nana gathered no mental moss. She told me that she sometime wondered how different her life would have been had she taken the time to thoroughly dedicate herself to only one subject but the lure of the unknown was too strong to resist and her will was too weak. She was my teacher.
Of course Nana had the answers to all my mermaid questions, each answer so dressed in logic that it became irrefutable. Finding out about my mermaid ancestry was the most exciting thing in my young life but some things Nana taught me about being a mermaid did not thrill me. Because a mermaid's skin was so delicate, I needed to eat more vegetables and fruits instead of my favorite noodles and pasta. I liked eating vegetables about as much as I liked eating worms. I had to be more considerate and responsive to animals, making sure my cats' meals were served at the proper times, regularly clean their litter box (yuk!), groom them and observe a daily exercise and playtime with them even though I'd rather be on the telephone dishing with my girlfriends. It was important that I keep my room clean because an ordered mind could not develop in an environment of clutter. I had to learn a musical instrument and open my mind to classical music because it would help me understand the rhythm of the world and the sea. And I did.
Nana coached me for my first sacred mermaid ceremony. This rite was held each year in a body of water when the first full moon of August, the Corn Moon, appeared in the night sky. Naked! We three mermaids stood naked in Nana's swimming pool at midnight with only moonbeams clothing our old, young and childish bodies. I hope the neighbors weren't watching and I certainly hope they weren't filming.
As the eldest mermaid, Nana lead the rites of remembrance for all the mermaids who went before us and all that is good on the Earth. Holding aloft a small circle of jade, she summoned the winds to witness our ancient ritual and celebration of the strength inherent in every woman. I swore a solemn vow that night to dedicate myself to the highest calling - to become the best mermaid I could be. And I did.
The Secret Mermaid
Copyright 2004 - Ansalee All Rights Reserved.