Mother, May I?
July 12, 2010
I would like to believe that every child has at least one happy memory of their mother. Yet in a world such as ours, that is not always the case. Mothers are—as they have always been but are especially now—something precious to cherish. Not all of us, however, can agree with that statement now, if ever.
When I was about four years old I loved my mother as any happy child should. My mother was someone who was fun, silly, attentive, joyful, trustworthy, and caring. I have many memories of her playing, laughing, joking, and simply being with me. Memories of her and I singing together into the tape recorder, of her and I playing dolls and cars together. I cherish every young memory I have of her, because those once happy memories turned into frightening nightmares after I matured into adolescence.
