One is
never over dressed. And when one puts a lot of thought into what they want to
wear because they want to look good for whatever reason they are dressing up,
they are showing that this event is important to them. That this event proves
high respect and honour. At least that’s what I thought the day my mom came out
in this beautiful black flowing summer dress with cute green polka-dots for the
day I graduated from high school. Her dress matched the colours of my suit
perfectly, which she had planned ever so meticulously. She took just as much
pride, maybe more, in that day as I did. I almost wish she could have been the
arm I leaned on when I walked down the aisle to get my diploma that day. She
was the one that never let me give up throughout high school after all.
I don’t
mean that academically. I did well on my own with the school work. But there
were times when I didn’t have the support from my peers that I may have needed
to proceed. There were times when I was not happy with the progress I was
making in piano lessons – which was the only thing I was really successful at.
There were times when my expectations were simply too high for myself, and nothing
I did ever really seemed to achieve those expectations. But, my mom was always there
to lift me up the rest of the way. Every time she signs her name with love reminds me of this.
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“Be
careful with your hands, they’re your future,” she said when I was barbecuing
and I burned my fingers one day. I never really realized how much those words
have affected me. My hands are my greatest weapon: they write, they paint, they
draw, they make music, they speak for me when my voice fails. She was one of
the first ones to acknowledge that I wasn’t going to be the manly man that
people expected me to be, especially being the oldest boy in the family. She
encouraged my artistic growth; taught me how to match colours with my clothes;
would provide me with crayons, paint, canvases; would make sure that I
practiced piano until practicing became a natural part of my routine. This polished
my synesthetic way of thinking, a way of thinking that I found out is rare and
according to one of my music instructors, it is a gift. She was the only one
who knew how to give me constructive criticism without hurting my feelings. She
showed me what commitment looks like, and how sticking with something shows its
rewards in the end.
As I
danced with my mom after sitting up on that emotional stage of freedom, it was
then that I realized I was graduated. I was grown up. I finally made it. I
looked down to my mom, but couldn’t look her in the eyes. I knew that the
moment I did I would burst into tears – but, my mom had this way of showing her
love without doing anything. She knew that I would cry if we made eye contact
or even spoke a word, so we just danced. She danced with me for a whole song
with no complaints and no early-quitting. That was enough for me to know that
she was proud of me, that she thought I deserved that moment where it was just
her and I. That is a gift that I will never forget. Coming from a family with
two other siblings, my parents had to divvy up their attention between the
three of us, so it was important that we were allotted special time with our
parents. At least to me it was.
I could
talk about all of the good things my mom is forever. I could tell you that her
smile warms me on the coldest nights, that her hugs almost bring me to tears,
and that her laughter makes me almost explode with happiness. I could tell you
that her strength is what keeps me strong, and the moment I see her tears I
want to save her from whatever upsets her. I could tell you that I strive to
always make sure that my mother is proud of me and that if I ever had to
choose, I would choose the route that I know would make my mother happy. My mom
is more of a savior than any religious figure to me; she has taught me more
morals than any book or preacher.
I’m
glad that I have the mom that I do. I know other people recognize how lucky I
am to have such a mom. She is probably going to laugh at me for writing such a
sappy post about her, but it’s really the truth and it’s just not the same to
joke about it anymore.
I’ve
written my mom poems, I’ve written her a short story, I’ve painted her pictures,
I’ve bought her flowers, trees, I’ve built her a whole garden, and I have yet
to still prove my immense love and appreciation for her. She has sacrificed so
much for me and my siblings to have the lives that we have, and there is
nothing that I can do, say, or create that will ever show how much I love her.
Now, I
make sure that I am dressed well to show that I respect and honour the life
that my mother has given me. Though clothes are a simple item to most people,
it makes a difference to me. I want people to look at me and say that my mother
raised a good kid. Because if I can do anything it would be to prove to my mom
that it was worth all of the hard work she did over the years to make me the
man that I am today.
Mom, I love you and Happy Mother’s Day.
Until next time,
Dillon
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