It’s a late night in the kitchen with a heat light shining over me. I was sitting there waiting till my mother came. My mother walks up to me and says “We need to talk” and I reply ”ok.” So I stare into her eyes with lots to say. She tells me that “she doesn’t even know who I am anymore”, but I tell her “she never really knew me.”
My mother got so angry that I talked back to her. She told me that I have to respect her. I thought to myself for a while why? Why respect a person who doesn’t know me or respect me. My mother just looked into my eyes and walked away, she felt so ashamed of what I became. I felt so bad at the end but I knew I must not apologize because if I did, then I would be letting her disrespect me for the rest of my life.
Thinking to myself what role did I play? Was I the good guy or the bad guy? Well who am I to say. All I know is that neither of us won that argument. A couple of days passed. I had not said a word to my mother since the argument, although yes, there had been days when it seemed we wanted to say something but instead we just looked the other way and kept going. Soon I found myself being the bigger person and I went to talk to her. She was in her room. So I had to walk down the hallway and open the white door, which led me to her. So I entered the room with so much fear hoping that she would not reject me. She didn’t.
I sat on her bed and told her “This time we are going to talk one by one and we will actually finish our conversation.” But then again she yelled at me and told me “you don’t tell me what to do” and so I started to cry and left to my room with so much frustration in my head that I didn’t know what to think. Was I the cause of our problems? Or was I just another mistake that my mother made?
I thought that I was doing the right thing, but I guess in her eyes it wasn’t good enough. I said to myself,” see this is exactly what I mean, she doesn’t even listen.” Where does the word respect even come from? Why is it part of our daily life style towards one another if my mother doesn’t even use it. The letters “R-E-S-P-E-C-T” no longer existed in my dictionary. I went to my room and started to write all the things that I hated which included my mother. I forgot to put the paper away, so when my father called me to come eat dinner I accidently dropped the paper on the floor. My mother happened to walk by, and she picked it up and read it. She broke down into tears and went back to her room.
My father told me to go get my mother to come eat with us at the table. It’s a custom where we all sit at the table and eat together. So I went to get my mother. Before I reached the door I heard a moaning sound. When I walked in, I saw my mother crying. I saw a tear that full of sparkle rolling down her smooth cheek. She could not even bear to look at me but I-I did not even know the reason why.
On the bed there was a paper. I grabbed it so fast making sure my mother wasn’t able to take it away from me. I held it up to where I was able to read it and it said, ”I HATE MY MOTHER” in bold pencil letters. I did not know what to tell her. I was trying to figure out a way to say “sorry” but words could not come out. So I simply said, “Mom it’s not like that.” She replied,” All I wanted to do is be a good mother to you, but my best is not great.” I meant to give her a hug but all I did was stand their staring at her as if it was the last time that I was going to see her.
I bowed my head and actually said….”SORRY.” My mother looked at me, I could see her from the corner of my eye. She said to me “I will always love you no matter what.” I felt so connected to her that my instincts pulled me to give her a hug. I held my mom so tight that nothing or no one could pull us a part. A week later I really wanted to hit the topic again. This time our conversation was calm, but then again I will never understand my mother’s side just like she will never understand my side. Eventually the word ”RESPECT” came back into my dictionary. I felt like this experience was not only to reunite my mother and me but also to show me respect comes in many different ways and at its own pace. I still ask myself why? Why respect a person who doesn’t know me or respect me? It’s hard to know and it’s hard to do, but unless you try you’ll never find out.
By:Prisciliana Pineda
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