My Mother : A Short Story

My mother is mestiza, my father is mestizo, my brother is mestizo, my tias, my tios, as am I. All mestizos. I’ve been told I am worthy of praise because I carry your language on my tongue without an accent, because I had an American education, because I can recite allegiance to your country. I am told I am worthy because I could assimilate to the culture, unlike my parents. I am often presented with shocked faces when I speak my second language, English, faces that always tell me that they would have never guessed I spoke so perfectly, thinking they’d have to work twice as hard to understand my heavy, foreign accent—the same accent my parents have. On top of that, I am the color of the sun reigning on my skin. I found from my 17 years here, it does not matter whether you are the color of milk or whether I speak English without an accent, the moment I speak Spanish and invite someone outside of my culture into my home and they notice I have Caso Cerrado on TV or see my mother swinging her hips to Vicente Fernandez, I am no longer White to them or “an insider.” I am other, an outsider. A “dangerous” outsider. “Ni de aqui, ni de aca.” “Ni de aqui,” not White enough, deemed too Mexican. “Ni de aca,” not Mexican enough, mestiza, and too whitewashed.

Throughout my life, I’ve gone through everything that could possibly put me in emotional distress. I’ve been down a broken road with my father, the man I love so much I’ll make every excuse for whenever he disappoints me. I’ve encountered life where it’s not so enjoyable due to unacceptance and never ending judgment by my biggest critic, my mother, the woman whom I should feel most secure with. However despite the emotional mounds of pain these matters carry, I was able to lift the suffocating weight long enough to realize everything that burdened me, made me strong enough to have the will power to be independent and make life changing decisions on my own. At three years old, I met my biological father in a local supermarket’s parking lot; I remember vividly, the exact moment when this stranger held me in his broad, strong arms. I recall screaming at an immense volume not even laying eyes on him. All I had been focused on was finding my mother, the woman who played both parental roles in my life. This clearly justified the great state of confusion I was in in his presence since I wasn’t at all aware I even had a father. As I grew older, the visits to my father’s house became the norm and having begun developed a “best friend” type of relationship with him, I found myself crying more and more when I had to go back to my mom’s settlement. I never wanted to leave; my life became filled with happiness, filled with a father’s love I had never felt

As the eighth child, I received little to no attention from both mother. Partly due to my father deceased a year after I was born, which dispersed my whole family structure. The loss of my father put my mother into a confused state, which forced her to seek out help from my father brothers and sisters. My six oldest siblings sent to live with my uncle and some close friends of my parents who were kind enough to accept my mother’s request. My sister and I stayed with my mother for short a period, then my mother moved into a new city left with my aunt.

I carry responsibility and work ethic because of my mother. My mother is a single parent, and she is a hard working woman. At working two jobs, I have pretty much just grown up faster than others, like ponyboy. Most kids my age get to go home, do their homework, and relax for the remaining time, or choose to go to extra curricular activities. A day in my life is what most people would describe as overwhelming. I wake up at around 5:30 AM every morning to take my yorkie on a mile jog to keep him active. I come back, take a shower, and begin to get ready at around 6:30 AM. Around that time my mother awakes, and makes us breakfast, usually consisting of cooked sausage, and eggs. I leave for school around 6:53-7:00 AM, being sure to give my mother a kiss on the cheek before I leave. I take a 1 hour bus ride to school, where I take all pre-ap and two high school credit classes. Once I have arrived home from school, I take my yorkie outside, play with him for nearly 25 minutes, and begin to work on the homework I have accumulated. I will usually have a chiropractic appointment, from 4:30- 5:30 PM. I will hurry to a softball game, which starts at 5:45 PM. Once I get out of softball, I go to the gym. One hour later, 8:30 PM, and we finally head home. I finish my homework, 9:45 PM, and I have to shower, prepare for bed, and I study for my permit test, which I will have to take, and later on get my hardship. For anyone who might not know what that is, it’s whenever you're parent

I have been very fortunate to have good relationships with both my mother and my grandmother. They are two very strong and independent women who have shaped me to have this same exact mindset and attitude. I have always been very close to my grandmother, Donna Smith, after she took part in raising my brother and I when our parents divorced, so I felt comfortable interviewing her and asking her about topics that would be more difficult to talk through with strangers. She was born and raised in the 1950’s and 1960’s in Port Huron, Michigan. Her childhood was different than most people’s at the time, due to the number of children in her family and the fact that her parents did not follow the typical gender roles. She went on to marry and have children at a young age, like most women during the 60’s. She ended up working as a medical biller for decades before retiring. Although this chronology of events is similar to those of the same generation, it was very interesting to evaluate how certain aspects of her life evolved and came together to make her a distinct individual. However, there are some topics that I was nervous to ask her about or did not know how to approach. Using both what she did and did not say, I was able to determine how her relationship with her own mother, the responsibilities and expectations placed on her during her adolescence, and her decision to marry and have children early affected her choices as a mom and her beliefs on

The sobs are what awoke me that day. I was in my bedroom in Saint Simons Island, Georgia. She was crying and saying something to me, but through the sobs, it was incomprehensible. Eventually she composed herself enough that I could understand, even through the still rapid sobs.

Margaret woke up to her mother yelling, “Maggie! Get up!” It was her mom’s wedding day, and she was the maid of honor. “I’m up!” she yelled. This day would be so much better if she liked the groom. He wasn't a bad guy, he just had a creepy vibe. But what did Maggie know? Val made her mom happy so she would do as she said. At least she wouldn't have to see Val for 2 hours, that's when the wedding started and he couldn't see her before, bad luck and all that. The only real bad luck was Val and his creepy shadow. For some reason his shadow would melt into black monsters, but no one seemed to notice except her. As she got ready, she thought about the year ahead. Val would move in, she would go into her senior year of high school and then she would go to college. Hopefully somewhere far away. It's not that she didn't love her family, she did, it's just that Val was soon going to be a part of that family. If only she could just take her mom, brother, and dog somewhere else, without him. Her Mom’s wedding was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. Her mom picked out a dress for her, the ceremony went all to plan, and Val's shadow seemed to stay normal for the night. After the wedding, she spent the night at her friend Jill’s house. Maggie told Jill about how creepy Val was. After that, the night continued on as normal. The next day Maggie went to work at the animal shelter. Her shift ended at 4 but she stayed an extra hour and walked home as slow as possible, anything

When I was 12 years old I lived with my great grandparents, grandmother and aunt and during that time, I would hear conversations about my mother. There was one evening while standing in my great grandmother’s kitchen before supper I overheard a conversation between my great grandmother and my aunt. My aunt said, “Robin (my mom) isn’t any good and little Peggy doesn’t need to talk to her or be around her.” My great grandmother didn’t agree or disagree she just said, “She has a right to know.” My great grandmother was very sweet but also frail she stood about 5’1 but had a hunch back that made her look shorter and wrinkly hands that were riddled with arthritis from working in the cotton fields when she was younger.

I knocked on the door it was that soft kind of polished wood. I heard a faint whisper saying “Come in.” I walked in and said “Hi momma how are you doing?”

In the hills of Mississippi, on a country road outside of small town named Eupora, is a small house on a hill surround by one hundred acres of land is a small three-bedroom house owned by Levi and Cordie Sellars the parents of my mother, Vera Mae Sellars. The birth of my mother was a hard one because she was breach and the doctors worked hard to save her and my grandmother. The doctor loss track of time during the birth to record her time of birth on the late night in July and the early morning of August so her birth was record on August 1, 1944. I

Every morning before school when my sisters were in high school, my mother woke up bright and early, cooked breakfast, curled, straightened, or braided my sister’s and my hair, and drove us to school. Then, my mother went to work in Redwood Falls as a social worker, came home, prepared lunch for my dad, folded the laundry, washed the dishes, and cleaned the house until it was spotless. Then, she picked up my sisters and me from school, whipped up something for dinner, and double-checked if everyone had their homework finished and forms signed for school the next day. Everyday my mother does so much for my family, and she has had a tremendous impact in my life. My mother not only takes care of my family, but she also helps support other families, all the while contributing greatly to the Wabasso school district. My mother is truly an extraordinary woman.

All I wanted to do was have a nice day with my mother and leave her feeling beautiful with a new haircut, but of course, it did not turn out like that.

Any women can be a mother but it takes someone special to be a mother. Having someone in your life who means so much to you is a blessing. My Mom, Fatima was born on June 4, 1973. Moving to her appearance, I could say that the way she acts says a lot about her personality. She is the kind of person that is interesting to listen. Every time I listen to her, I learn something new. The moment she had me in her life was also a blessing for her. Im her third daughter. She is someone who cheers me up while I’m feeling sad. Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Her smile is the only thing that will make me happy throughout the day. Her guiding hand on my shoulder will remain forever. Ever since her childhood, my mom was taught that

My Inspiration My mom essentially is the most inspirational person to me in a basically big way. When I specifically feel down she comforts me, or so they for all intents and purposes though. She listens to all of my problems and reassures me when my insecurities essentially come out in a generally major way. She’s also very determined, when she mostly puts her mind to something, she exceeds basically past her goals, pretty contrary to popular belief. She kind of is not just my mom she for the most part is also my really the best friend in a for all intents and purposes major way. My mom for all intents and purposes is an pretty much older version of myself, she’s definitely short with kind of brown hair in a particularly major way. She literally has intimidating kind of green eyes, which

I wake up to the sound of the front door closing ‘ just another day’ I tried to tell myself. As I shifted in my bed my eyes had begun to close shut again, stunned by the bright sunlight piercing through the curtains. Rubbing my eyes happened to be the natural thing to do when relieving them from the radiant sunlight. Lazily I looked to my left and the picture of my mother caught my attention, as it did everyday. Not only did I miss my mother but the picture had been a token of my innocence and a reminder of my ignorance; I guess that is why it motivates me to do what I do. Heaven forbid a few tears would escape my eyes I knew she wouldn’t want me to be like this. It was hard to believe it has been four years since her passing I just wish