Sometimes when I’m listening to music and smoking by myself, I start going back in time. I think about events that shaped certain perspectives I now have. Whether it be of people, of certain topics, of events, pretty much anything. I have a shitty memory, I only remember things that had an impact on me in some way.
During this smoke session, I started thinking about my poems. I guess that is also due to the fact that I have to write a poem for my Creative Writing class. I thought about the topics for my poems when I was a teenager. Or rather, the themes. A lot of them, the most recent ones (Which is like three or four years ago, or maybe even five) had something to do with my mom. At this time my mom and dad had gotten a divorce. And my mom was, lost. My dad was too, but he wasn’t as hung up. At least he didn’t show it anyways. But my mom, she just fell out of the “perfect” mom routine. Everything she did for us and the way she treated us, it sort of changed. Well anyways, at that time my poems were about her predicament. I actually posted a few of them: Armageddon of the Heart and Puppet Master. These are some of my favorite poems, and they were about my mom.
These themes, this topic, it got me thinking of a certain event that cemented her image in my mind at the time. I was laying on the couch, watching anime. For some reason, I think I liked sleeping on the couch. Anyways, I hadn’t seen my mom since the morning. Well actually maybe I saw her after she got off work. Well, anyways she had gone on a date or something. She was talking to this guy. My mom comes home, I am passed out on the couch, and she lays across me when I wake up to greet her. Then she begins to sob into my chest. I stroked her hair and comforted her, and tried to coax out of her what was wrong. She didn’t tell me straight up, she was very vague about the whole thing, but the gist of it was that some guy had just used her for sex, or that was something that the guy only wanted.
At this moment I felt odd. I couldn’t help but think, wasn’t this the kind of thing i should go crying to her about? But I had never been that type of person. At the time, I was still a virgin, and guys didn’t really interest me, and neither did girls, or anyone really.
But here was my mom, crying to me, about a topic I had no familiarity with. I don’t know why I am thinking of this memory, or what it means. I can’t put in words the image I have of my mother now, it’s something beyond words. It’s the kind of thing words can’t describe, my impression of her. But I love her. I don’t care what happened in the past when she was just shy of a perfect mother. It doesn’t matter. Just as my dad’s faults and shortcomings don’t bother me. I love them both. Everyone in my family gets that pass. I don’t know why family is so important to me, but it is.
-High Ramblings of a Stoner