A Lineage of Athleticism and a History Shrouded in Mystery
I love it when my Mom goes off when she watches a basketball game. There’s so much about her that I don’t even know. Intramural basketball player, volleyball player, and even table tennis. I remember her saying that even though she has had three kids, not a single one became an athlete or got into sports. I find that a bit funny sometimes.
Growing up, I don’t even know very much about my own mother, except for some of the basics. She grew up in Laos, was poor, had multiple brothers and sisters, trained to become a nurse before the Communist regime came over. She likes flowers, works at an assembly job, and enjoys her Buddhist rituals. She’s a bit of a hoarder, but only because she feels that there will always be some use. Better to have than not, I suppose.
I’d ask her about her life, but I don’t even know how I would even phrase the question. I’m pretty sure we’ll be closer soon. The only moment I ever had a deep conversation about her life was when I had told her I was worried about my future and if whether or not a relationship would be a good decision. She had told me about how she had so many dudes on her, but she’d only put them in the friend-zone and enjoy their company. From badasses to bachelors to brainy kinds of guys, she’s seen a bunch of them but decided to pick my father. Why? I never found out (yet), but last I remembered, the one remark she said about my father was that out of all 11 siblings, he never yelled at his own mother.
The one thing that strikes me different about her is that she’s got a heart condition. It’s been getting worse, and I get hesitant about making my own decisions. There are some things that I do that she does not agree with to say the least, wanting to participate in a violent sport being one of them. Some of our decisions conflict each other, but we’ve been getting better at communicating our thoughts and ideas. She’s been more encouraging and more understanding lately. The fact that she’s got a weakening heart is the most frightening thing to me right now. All I ask is that I have enough time to make her the proudest of me she’s ever been, and every day the fear looms over me. Call me a Mama’s boy if you really want, but we truly only live once. The last thing I want is for her to leave unhappy.
It’ll feel like our days are limited together, but I’ll always make the most of what I still have. We’ve been through so much shit and have come so close to becoming a broken family. We’ve come so far alive. I’ll hate to leave it broken apart.