Have you ever heard of the saying, "Mothers know best?" Well I didn't believe this during my crazy teenage years, but I somehow do now. My lack of understanding led to multiple quarrels and verbal violence with my mother during my entire young adolescence time. No matter what she did, what she said I was always against her.
She held me for nine months without complaint and suffered giving birth to me on the seventeenth of October. She brought me into her life, fed me, nourished me, gave me life. She loved to dress me up in beautiful dresses, punished me when I did, said something wrong. She entertained me with nursery rhymes and "when I was your age" tales. She made me cry, she made me smile, she loved me for who I am.
When I was five years old my mother left me, my sister, father and younger brother. Don't worry she did it for our own good. She moved here in America for a better opportunity in life for her family. We soon followed, though this is a rather complicated topic to discuss. But, long story short after two years of separation from our mother we were finally complete again, ready to start a new life with all of us together... well kind of. What I meant by that was, yes we were complete but not really because our new unexpected addition to the family didn't arrive yet, not until four years later. Anyway, my mother was the reason I am where I am now.
Years have gone by and behaviors from the homeland slowly faded away; I became somewhat "Americanized." My new way of living didn't agree with her traditional aspects in life. Because of that, angry, non meaningful words were exchanged, hands slapped faces, tears shed from all four eyes, eyes weren't met for days, silence between mother and daughter was acknowledged, feelings were hurt, hearts were mended, night and days continued to pass.
She hated the way I looked physically. She blamed my father for that. "I never had pimples growing up, my skin was always smooth," she would say, "When I was your age, I always looked sexy unlike you," she would continue. She hated my first boyfriend. She rejoiced our breakup other than comforted me, saw that I was hurting. I never really felt that kind of comfort from her, that she actually cared how I felt about certain things. These actions made me angry with her and that's why sometimes I rebelled but not to the point of loosing myself, just talking back and lying behind her back. I didn't like arguing with her, but sometimes I just couldn't take what she said.
Sure that may seem like a horrible mother but I know she only wants the best for me. She doesn't want me to end up like one of those obese teenagers out there and it didn't matter if she liked my first boyfriend or not because she knew he wasn't the right one for me from the very beginning. And if I just listened to her, I would have never gotten my heart broken by some careless bastard. Mothers know best.
We still get into arguments often, but most of the time we get along. She's only looking out for me because she doesn't want me suffering in the long run. I love my mom. We've been through so much together and we're still here together fighting the hardships in life. Why is it the ones you love most end up the one you're always hurting? Is it because that love they have for you is the unconditional kind and at the end, no matter what happened, they are the ones who will still be there for you when no one else will? Hmm... maybe.
One thing my mother always tells me when I get into an argument with her is, "You'll never know how I feel until you have your own kids." I think about this sometimes and she may be right. What mother wants to see their own child hate her? I have friends with no mothers, too many mothers, mothers that abandon them, and have mothers but don't respect them. Sometimes I don't realize how lucky I am and I become one of those who have mothers but disrespect them. I'm trying not to because I now know that my mother shows her love for me through many ways: yelling, kissing, insulting, hugging, staring, and annoying phone calls. Sometimes when I realize that I'm very disrespectful I allow her to slap me in the face and then I go and cry in my room.
Happy Mother's Day Mom. I know I don't say this much but, I love you, I really do.