Mum's the word? Not on your life

I'M 5-years-old and Mummy effortlessly ends my first-day-of-school anxiety with a phrase I will grow to question. "It'll be great, trust me, Mum knows best."

At the time dearest Mummy did know best. She could spout off the 12 times table quicker than I could count to 10, so why wouldn't I believe her assertion?

It seems daft looking back that despite my first day of school involving a blood nose, falling off the flying fox and having to sit next to a boy with a snotty nose and boy-germs, I still believed it was a truly great day. And why?

Because Mummy said so. But now, at the grand age of 16, I have successfully learnt the 13 times table and can spout it faster than my mother can count to 10 and it strikes me that, perhaps, I've been deceived this entire time, and that mothers the world over get a buzz from the innocent admiration of their children.

I understand that as a teenager I'm typecast as a rebellious parent-hating trouble-maker, and that this article will be seen as just a cliche{aac}d expression of that attitude. But I sincerely believe that mothers everywhere are having a laugh on us kids.

It's embarrassing, really, to have been so gullible for so long. Just because my mother laboured for 14 hours to deliver me, a 4.9kg precious and quite obviously delicate angel, she thinks she has the right to feed me a few white lies and build herself up into the position of MVP in my life.

When I was 8, I decided to confide in my mum about my first real crush, Liam from Room 7. Concerned that she'd tell the world, I made my mum promise my secret was safe with her, and she did so faultlessly, with another phrase I would grow to question: "Don't worry, Dear, mum's the word."

At the time, Mum could define and spell any word I threw at her, so I truly believed she was a living dictionary, making her every and any "word" she wanted to be.

Ignorantly, I placed my trust in her once more. Even when Liam's mother, my teacher, started sitting me next to him on the mat and humming Hi-5's L.O.V.E whenever we were together, I remained confident that my mum had kept my secret.

The fact that my mother and Liam's mother were close friends did not register at the time. But now that I'm the mature age of 16, and my mum comes to me for the word to complete her unfinished sentence, I realise that Mum's really not the word at all, but rather the biggest gossip in town.

Don't get me wrong, I acknowledge that mums can be idolising material. But not to the extent that they make out. I mean, my crush on Liam ended suddenly, and all because we had a huge fight in the playground about whose mum was cooler.

My point is that being in the role of mother doesn't give them the right to deceive us in this way. We are tricked into thinking our mother is Superwoman, with endless knowledge and a special ability to keep our secrets, as payback for the weight we make them gain over those magical nine months. What a terribly clever, yet vindictive, plan.

At 13 I was introduced to a concept that I would forever question. It comes in the form of two words: "maternal instinct".

Coming home from Year 9 netball trials with the news of making the A team, my mother popped my bubble before it had even fully inflated, by stating that she "knew I had got in". How? Through "maternal instinct".

Once again, I fell victim to my mother's false representation of herself. At the time, my mum knew the news of the day before I did, so it didn't surprise me that her powers extended to fortune-telling as well.

I didn't occur to me that her advance knowledge of my selection could have anything to do with my beaming smile as I walked in the door or the "congratulations-your-daughter-has-been-chosen" text she had received from the coach.

Now, though, at my adult age of 16, I can use the beautiful Google (a site my mother doesn't even think exists) to get all the news before my mum even thinks to tune into the 6 o'clock bulletin. Another of the cruel deceptions children are victim to is exposed.

As if genius, secret-keeping Superwoman wasn't enough, they trick us into thinking they can see into the future, too? How far will we let this go? Probably as far as we can stretch it.

At 16, and having realised that my mum had me so hypnotised, I feel an obligation to use the same powers and make sure my children, too, are completely and utterly obliterated by my "awesomeness" till at least their 14th birthday.

Lisette Reymer, Year 13, Sacred Heart Girls' College, Hamilton