And So It Continues...

            “Please don’t spill on my couch,” were the first words that tumbled out of my mouth as my friend sat down on the light blue fabric. As soon as I uttered those words, I immediately wanted to retract them and shove them back into my head. He teasingly said, “I know, I won’t.” Exactly five seconds later he told me, what I dreaded to hear. “I spilled some soy sauce on your couch.” (This is the part in the story where a normal sane person would proceed to tell him, it’s okay, and not to cry over spilt milk) Oh no! Not I! As soon as he got up I ran for the Spray n Wash, followed by vigorous scrubbing, and finally, tossing the fabric into the dirty laundry for prompt cleaning. After these actions I started to compulsively clean my room, even though there was nothing really to clean. Now folks, try to contain your laughter, I then started to sob uncontrollably cry a little. Was I crying because I was upset about the spill? No. I was crying because sometimes I feel as though what I say, whether it be to my friends, co-workers, or peers, gets totally disregarded. I will break my back trying to help others out, and by trying to listen to what others have to say. When it comes to me, I feel like I am not held with the same respect. It was at this exact moment I realized, I am turning into my mother. She would often ask me if I was totally disregarding her on purpose, or what? Now I know exactly what she was talking about.

            This is a concept I used to dread as a teenager. There was no nightmare greater than that of becoming my mother. Now, as I grow older, I can only hope to become half the person she is (even with all the O.C.D. moments). The home where I was raised is probably the cleanest home anyone would ever come across. We have two cats, and the floors are so clean you can eat off of them. As my friends can attest to, I have picked up this perfection-cleaning O.C.D. clean trait. My room here is spotless.  My room lacks piles of clothes, my desk is cleared, books organized, dressers free of clutter, and my bed is made everyday. So what is the point of all this you ask? To say I am proud to be like my mom. She is the kindest, most loving, thoughtful person I have ever known. She does good for others, before ever doing anything for herself. I actually can’t even remember the last time she did anything for herself. She is courageous, and has taught me everything I need to know for life, without even knowing she taught me. She Mr. Miyagi’d me, and my friends, that is a weird but awesome feeling. I no longer fear the outcome of turning into my mother, I rather embrace the idea. I have a ways to go, wisdom to collect, and kids to fight for and with until I reach her complex state of being.

            Now I laugh at the idea that I cried over the soy sauce spill, because I like knowing I am my mother’s daughter. Whether I have the good, the bad, or the ugly traits I will be happy to embrace them all (maybe just the good one's). So to end this long blog I will say what I know my mom would tell me, “Continue to treat others the way you want to be treated.” Now go off into the world, and do your thing!