In a list of discussion questions on one social media site the question asked was, are you most like your mother or father?

That’s easy for me to answer. I have my father’s upbeat attitude about life and have a passion for the same things he enjoyed. At the top of that list is our passion for nature and spending time outdoors.

My mother, on the other hand, said she didn’t have time for frivolous pursuits. She had too much work to do.

Our home always looked like we were expecting the Good Housekeeping photographer. Mom worked hard to keep it that way.

When I was living at home I didn’t think we had much in common except a strong love of family. We both valued our weekly get-together with her sisters and never tired of being with family. We didn’t have to be doing much to have family fun.

In other ways though, we were quite different. I would call it opposites.

While she was a fashion plate and always planned what outfits she would wear, I never knew what I was wearing to a special event until I reached in my closet that day.

My mother would dance all night and never tire. I seldom had the courage to go on the dance floor. I remember going to a school dance and hiding in the bathroom so I wouldn’t have to dance with a boy. After we graduated, the boys my age would dance with my mom.

I loved classical music. Mom hated it. She wanted rock ’n’ roll music.

When it came to home decorating, Mom most enjoyed white walls throughout the house and what she called “a clean, uncluttered look.” I preferred bright colors.

After I got married, my husband asked me what color I wanted him to paint our apartment. I said “anything but white. I’m sick of white.”

Now, the joke is on me because as the years passed, I found myself insisting on white walls and a clean, uncluttered look. To this day it’s how I want my home. Like my mother, I don’t have a lot of decorative items, and those I do have are meaningful.

There’s a cartoon that jokes about a woman looking in the mirror and yelling, “Yikes, I’m turning into my mother.”

I’m turning into my mother in more ways than one. And I’m grateful for all of it.

Like my mother, I now love dancing. I have no idea why it took me so long to lose my inhibitions.

Like my mother, I’m family centered. She would do anything to help her kids and I’m the same way. There is nothing I value more than being with family.

Thankfully, my daughters and I are especially close and they share my family values.

We all believe my mother passed along the ability to cope with challenging situations. That certainly came in handy during this pandemic.

One of the realizations I’ve had is that we view life quite differently as we get older. I often find myself saying, I wish I would have realized that when I was younger.

For all too many years I viewed my father through rose-colored glasses. I definitely favored him when I was a teenager.

Now I realize how unfair that was to my mother. Without meaning to, I must have hurt her with my nearsighted worship of anything my father did.

Yet Mom was more than the dominant parent. She was the ONLY parent after their divorce. I realize now we might have been living lived on the street if my mother didn’t have the strength and fortitude to work two jobs to support me and my brother.

When I was a teenager I didn’t know about things like no financial support after a divorce. I didn’t know how she struggled with very little money to make our meals. My mom didn’t burden me by complaining about how tough it was to single-handedly pay the bills while providing for me and my brother.

Once in a blue moon my dad would write me a note and slip a few dollars in the envelope. I would jump around in excitement saying, “Look what my dad sent me.”

Sadly, I never jumped around in excitement when my mother managed to scrape up the money to buy me new clothes.

I took all she did for granted because I was a dumb kid.

I’m not a dumb kid anymore. I’m a mature adult in awe of what my mother managed to do for me throughout my life.

I wish I would have given her more accolades when she was still living.

Once, during the time that turned out to be the last of her good years before she got sick, my mom and I took a nostalgic walk through our old neighborhood.

Walking arm in arm, I told her I was sorry I didn’t treat always treat her the way she deserved to be treated.

“What are you talking about?” she answered. “You were always a wonderful daughter.”

Maybe that was absolution, I don’t know. I do know it meant the world to me.

I also know that many mothers don’t get the praise they deserve. Moms do the heavy lifting in child raising but often don’t get the credit.

Erma Bombeck once said a mother has to wait until she’s dead to get the praise she deserves.

Now, I often praise my mother. I just wish she were alive to hear it.

Contact Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net.