Blog 1

As I sit here, in my over-crowded room in an over-populated city, I ponder. About a lot of things. I look out my window at what is now 8 o’clock at night on a Saturday, and I just ponder. Outside my window, is the faded grey sky, getting lighter after a thunderstorm that happened only hours before. The trees are finally still, no longer dancing in the harsh wind, the grass is a dark green from the dew, and the clothing lines in my backyard are dripping with crystals of rain. I sigh and breathe with a slight smile. So much beauty in this world, we just don’t see. So much beauty we just take for granted.

A vibrant yellow and red fire hydrant I see on my way to the bus stop always catches my attention. Of course, to some people, it may seem like a mere object that helps prevent fires. But no, to me it’s different. The red is too captivating, too eye-catching, to just be a mere short object.

A park bench I see sometimes at the park across my street always gets to me. I wonder, how many different people have sat there in their time, whether it just be for rest, or to appreciate the lively scenery. I wonder what went through their minds at that time that they were situated on that bench. Were they exhausted, confident, lonely? Did they need to escape their usual routine, and just sit for a while, contemplate?

There’s another thing in which a lot of us take for granted. We treat them as strangers most of the time, just a person who happens to be with us, nothing more, and nothing less. And as I sit at this cluttered desk, full of my poetry books, purple Ipod, and my retainer case, I just think of this little, yet dangerous unknown fact. We really don’t understand our moms. No, we don’t. Just like we defend ourselves by saying they don’t understand us either. Unfortunately, it goes both ways.

How many times as kids did we screech for something we wanted, a toy for instance, and after all those screeches, our moms finally gave in. How many times have they stayed up with us when we were sick? How many times, when we messed up or embarrassed ourselves, did they still take us under their wing? We couldn’t possibly know.

Yes, my mom for instance, is to me another version of a boot camp instructor. I’m restricted from putting too many posters in my room, am not allowed to wear black nail polish, I have a curfew of 9:00, I’m not allowed to go to concerts without an adult chaperone, and I’m not even allowed to get my license. Yes, I’ll have a fit of rage for the unfairness. But one statement comes to me now: life isn’t fair. And honestly, I know my mom isn’t out to get me, or make my life a brutal torture chamber, she just honestly wants what’s best for me. Because there is never a day that goes by, that my mom doesn’t show how much she loves me. There isn’t a day that goes by in which she doesn’t kiss me, or tell me she wants me to talk to her, to tell her how I’m feeling. Everyday after school, I have to call her a total of two times, just so she knows I’m safe. At first, I thought this was embarrassing; all my other friends didn’t have to do such a thing. But now I realize, she’s worried and that she wants no harm to be done to me.

Now, I know that not everybody has mothers who they think of, like I do mine. I know there are mothers out there who may abuse alcohol or drugs, or just don’t spend enough time with you. That’s sad, and unfair, because as kids all we want is to know that we’re loved. But I bet they still love you, no matter what you may think.

My mother gets mad at me, of course. There isn’t a day that goes by that we’re not at each other’s necks (verbally speaking). Yes, after every fight all I can think of is how she doesn’t understand me. But after my anger is finally diminished, only after my rage is gone, that is when I can truly understand how wrong I was of my mom. We may not know it, but our mothers know more about us than we think. Now, I’m not saying she knows what you’re doing 24/7, but I know she understands how you feel most of the time. They just know. They can see it in your eyes.

How many frustrated tears I’ve shed over how unfair and cruel I think my mom is. But now, I understand. I finally understand. How broken she looks over the monthly bills, and how she’ll shout with my father if he’s bugging her, how stressed out she is when she has a hectic day at work. But why does she undergo all that stress? For me. To make me live with a roof over my head. To feed me, even the cold leftovers, so I can survive.

And now, as I hear her talking rapidly to my aunt in Italian while she’s folding the laundry, I think I’ve come to discover what parenthood truly is about. So, if you think your mom is purposely trying to make you angry, or getting mad over every little thing, just think of how much she’s done for you. Just think. Don’t react. Just think.

And remember, our moms were teenagers once too. They’ve done pretty bad mistakes, they might not admit it, but they have. They are humans after all.


- Fey.