I got into a fight today. It was for my right. My mother got mad at me, but it was her fault. Maybe.
My mother told me about her giant strides in school. How she was always the first in class.
My mother told me about her excellent awards. How she got a Nobel prize for best student.
My mother told me about her friends. How she was the best among them and they were jealous.
My mother told me stories of competitions. How she represented her school and won them.
My mother told me about her parents. How they were so proud that she was their daughter.
My mother told me I wasn’t a good student. How I wasn’t making her my role model and all.
My mother almost told me she wasn’t proud of me. No, she did not, but she almost did.
I was sad. I was heartbroken. I was ashamed. I decided to up my game. I improved my studies.
I couldn’t stand disappointing my mother. I wanted her to be proud of me, like her parents were.
So, why did I get into a fight? I’m not the type to get into one. Let me tell you how it began.
My friend came to our house. We talked about how far our parents’ had gone in their lives.
My friend said his mother always took first in class, won competitions and a Nobel prize.
My friend said his mother made her friends jealous while making her parents proud.
I found myself repeating every word he said. Wow. We were so engrossed in pride until…
My friend mentioned his mother’s school and the year she graduated. I was confused.
That was the school my mother attended. And that was definitely the year she graduated.
That wasn’t all. Our mothers read the same course and were in the same class. I was dazed.
You see? That was how we both started fighting, each saying his mother was the best.
I went from trying to make my mother proud to realizing that somebody lied, it wasn’t me.