"I came home from school to find my dad and sister shot and killed.
I heard someone in the house, and I hid in the closet.
My mom had seen me get into the closet.
A man with a gun asked her where I was, and she didn't tell him.
She was shot.
My mother loved me.
We had a conversation, me and my friend, about arguments with our mothers. Our conscious and heart knows that our mother is right, although our body and mind goes against what they say. [An urge to prove ourselves correct is in a human's nature.] Anyways, those arguments, can range from aggravating silent treatments, to strong confessions that leaves us both, mother and daughter, breaking down into tears. While I lie in my bed, face down, hating my mother, she walks in. My mother, tears and all, confesses everything, telling me how her life was pretty much penniless, to the fact that an ant hill was to keep herself entertained. They couldn't afford toys. She never had a doll. She had exactly one pair of trousers, and a mere shirt was all she had. They had to salvage every single thread to have enough for another pair of pants. She sobs, and I could hear she was trying to hide it, because she had always kept a smile for me. It killed me to see a mother cry. While my face is dug into the pillow, I realized she had completed her goal: giving me something and everything that she never had. I can't help but realize how she has spoiled me and my siblings on our birthdays, but I on the other hand, had no idea when her birthday was. My emotions are colliding, and fighting it out, because I felt sorry for her, I wanted to jump up, embrace her, and tell her sorry for every single thing I did to make her unhappy. However, I hated her at the moment. I just lied there, my face in the pillow, crying my eyes out, vowing there won't be a moment like this again, because I will change. My nerves twisted, I had confidence. I said I was sorry. She never looked so happy.
She told me when I was a child, she would sing me endless lullabies, and I would not fall asleep, because I wanted to hear them all.
I know my mother had banned me from the things I loved, and yelled at me, but I learned those things banned are only improving me. I forgive her.
So here in the hallway benches again, our school ready to lock up, is me and my friend, confessing about our mothers. It is a silly thing to discuss in a typical conversation, but our conversations can change and alter a life, and can alter eachother's.
We get up to leave, ready to go home and to face our mothers. So the moral of all this, is respect your mother. You don't know, what they all have gone through.
P.S. Unless your mother is an abusive drunk alcoholic, then I'm sure there are exceptions. :)