Dear Mom: I’m not sorry
In school, my young self was told that a mother knows best. She knows when her child is sick before he actually got sick. She knows when her child is hurt even if he kept quiet. A mother knows her child’s favorite food without asking, her child’s favorite hobby without observing, her child’s favorite color without seeing. But mom, you never knew best. Whenever I got sick, you were never home to know. All those nights I cried, no matter how loud, you never heard. You don’t know my favorite food, you don’t even cook. You don’t know my favorite hobby, I barely see you around for it. Even if you have 20-20 vision, you wouldn’t know my favorite color because you never bat an eye on me. Still mom, I’m not sorry. Not at all. You’re not like them. You are my mom. And no one can take that from me.
In school, my high school self was told that a mother cares most. She cares about her child’s health, always sending him to his favorite sport. She cares about her child’s education, making sure the school he went to was the best. A mother cares when her child’s team got beaten, when her child’s heart got broken, when her child’s pride got shattered. But mom, you never cared most. The evidence of my weak body keeps you farther away. As long as I walk out that door, my education doesn’t matter. My team lost so many times, you’re always nowhere to be found. You never even know if I had lovers, heartbreaks doesn’t tint you one bit. Even if I am dragged from hallways to hallways with nothing on, you wouldn’t care about my pride because I don’t exist to you. Still mom, I’m not sorry. Not at all.
In school, my college self was told that a mother loves infinitely. She loves her child even if he doesn’t set sail for his life. She loves her child even if his decisions disappointed her. A mother loves her child regardless of the miles in between, regardless of the friends he hang with, regardless of the family he chose to create. But mom, you never loved infinitely. Even if I packed up for college, you wouldn’t love me for it. I stood in honor roll black, your eyes still bat no love. I stay less than twenty feet and five miles, your love still cease to exist. Throwing a party for my best friend’s successful business still doesn’t touch your love. Even as your hair falls, denying your youth, you still share no love toward my adopted children, lover, and me because you have never seen me as your son. Still mom, I’m not sorry.