PostEverything

An open letter of repentance to my

mother during the Days of Awe

In which the author of Spoiler Alerts apologizes to his mother.

By Daniel W. Drezner October 5

Follow @dandrezner

Daniel W. Drezner is a professor of international politics at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University and a regular contributor to
PostEverything.
Dear Mom,
Happy Jewish New Year! As you well know, were in the middle of the Days of Awe between the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashannah) and the Day of Atonement
(Yom Kippur), during which Jews are supposed to atone for their past transgressions through prayer, charity and repentance. This Judaism 101 site tells me:
Among the customs of this time, it is common to seek reconciliation with people you may have wronged during the course of the year. The
Talmud maintains that Yom Kippur atones only for sins between man and God. To atone for sins against another person, you must first
seek reconciliation with that person, righting the wrongs you committed against them if possible.
As the somewhat snarky writer of Spoiler Alerts, I have a lot of atoning to do over the next week or so. But even though I saw you just two days ago, I thought I
would start with you, Mom.
As you have told me at various points this year, I have not always been the most dutiful of sons. When we have been together as a family, I have been too quick to
dismiss your interventions whether we are talking about politics or home improvements or when you are trying to help me in the kitchen when Ive been cooking.
Now, if it makes you feel any better, the politics thing is not unique to you; its a function of this election cycle. Clearly, Donald Trump has a lot more atoning to do
than I on that front, but I do apologize for letting the stresses of this presidential election cause me to be short-tempered. You deserve better than that, Mom.
I am even sorrier for not appreciating your efforts to help me when we are all together asking me whether I am dome using an ingredient when Im cooking so you
can put it away, or whether I have made the family travel plans that you want to lock down, or whether I have made the necessary preparations for some other event
I am organizing. This is a legacy of the feeling every child has when a parent questions their decision-making ability. Theres a natural defense mechanism that kicks
in when a parent questions whether something is being done in the right way, an instinct that makes me want to say, I am TOO a grown-up! But even grown-ups are
imperfect, and often you have been right to point out something I need to do.
The thing I am most sorry for, however, is my failure to thank you for all the support you have given me throughout the years. It is next to impossible for a child to
truly appreciate just how much a parent does to look after them until one becomes a parent themselves and sees ones own children display a similar lack of
appreciation. Only as parents do we realize the million little things that have to be done to help our children without coddling them, to nudge them towards maturity
without helicopter parenting. It is simply impossible, as a child, to appreciate the myriad parental tightropes that have to be traversed.
When I was growing up, Mom, you managed to be both my biggest booster and sternest critic. One of those roles mortified me, and the other one aggravated me. But
I doubt I would have gotten to my current station in life without these efforts. I have always known this on some level, but only in recent years have I appreciated it.
And I look forward to you simultaneously printing out this column to show to friends and calling me to let me know about any grammar mistakes I made.
Thank you for all of your love and support throughout the years, Mom. I ask forgiveness for those moments when I fail to recognize it. May you be inscribed in the
Book of Life!
Love,
Dan

Daniel W. Drezner is a professor of international politics at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University and
a regular contributor to PostEverything. Follow @dandrezner