Organized by Collection
To Be a Mother I do not believe, as is common, that age brings with it wisdom; my mother (and consequently, myself) are bright examples of how time does not cure the tendency to make irrational decisions. When I was a small child, I saw my mother as the brightest star in the evening sky; she was my light, my direction, my goddess. Any mistakes or unintelligent decisions she made were, in my mind, exempt from ridicule; being my mother, she was, of course, the epitome of perfection.
More Like This
Drawing closed the blinds of my childhood, I grew into the realization that my mother, as all others, was a flawed creature; her brilliant red hair came from a plastic bottle from the second aisle of the supermarket, and correspondingly, so did her self-worth. As I aged, it was forced upon me the degree to which she placed value in appearance; no test score could bring joy into her eyes the way it did when I placed aside twenty e