We Learn From Those Who Are Closest To Us
We Learn From Those Closest to Us “You will never truly understand something until it happens to you.” My mother says. Yeah, yeah I get it. Until you put yourself in someone else’s shoes you know what they have gone through. That’s not what I’ve thought of until something really happened to me. See, I’ve never met my father. I’ve always asked her why I don’t ever get to see him and why she doesn’t ever talk about him. When I was a little girl, she told me not to talk to any boys. Why? Because boys are dangerous and all they’ll do is tear your life apart. She still tells me this and I still don’t agree with her. She only says that because I don’t have a father.
Now that I am old enough, it was about time for me to know why I don’t have a father. I’ve been sitting in my room days and nights wondering, why? Why, why, why. I look at other families and I see two complete parents and their children. I don’t feel like I’m part of a family. I feel like I just have a mother that tells me what to do and says that boys are dangerous. How dangerous? Are they going to kill me? Unless if they have a weapon in their hands directed at me, they’re not dangerous. Boys can say things to hurt me, but my mind doesn’t take that.
So as I walk towards my mother’s room, all of these questions and thoughts create a tornado making me feel like throwing up. But I will do this. I will ask her and she will tell me. I sit on her bed and wait for her to talk. “Something you need?” she asks. I want to get up and leave now but I still want my answer. “I want to know why you don’t talk about my father and why I can’t see him, it’s been how many years and I still don’t know, and I think you shouldn’t keep this from me” She got up, went to her vanity drawer, and pulled out an envelope. She handed it to me and stood there waiting for me to open it up. I read the note, and walked out and sat in my room. That’s it. That’s all I need to know.
When I was a little girl was the first
Now that I am old enough, it was about time for me to know why I don’t have a father. I’ve been sitting in my room days and nights wondering, why? Why, why, why. I look at other families and I see two complete parents and their children. I don’t feel like I’m part of a family. I feel like I just have a mother that tells me what to do and says that boys are dangerous. How dangerous? Are they going to kill me? Unless if they have a weapon in their hands directed at me, they’re not dangerous. Boys can say things to hurt me, but my mind doesn’t take that.
So as I walk towards my mother’s room, all of these questions and thoughts create a tornado making me feel like throwing up. But I will do this. I will ask her and she will tell me. I sit on her bed and wait for her to talk. “Something you need?” she asks. I want to get up and leave now but I still want my answer. “I want to know why you don’t talk about my father and why I can’t see him, it’s been how many years and I still don’t know, and I think you shouldn’t keep this from me” She got up, went to her vanity drawer, and pulled out an envelope. She handed it to me and stood there waiting for me to open it up. I read the note, and walked out and sat in my room. That’s it. That’s all I need to know.
When I was a little girl was the first