The description and impression of mothers that I get from many stories and from other families is that they are warm and tender, courteous and amiable. A mother will treat their children well and give all of her best to her children. I had been jealous of those children because they could get their mother’s care every minute but my mother ……
She seemed to ignore my existence. She would go out early to prepare for her lessons and assist her students. Normally, nighttime is the time for mother and son to reunite happily, but every evening she was engrossed in her further studies. Occasionally, she would raise her head from a hill of books and watch me for a while, perhaps with a little regret. I remember when I was a child, I always wanted to sit in front of her so that she might watch me longer but this strategy never succeeded. Our eye contact was always blocked by the books. If my mother was not immersed in her books, then she would go out and help her students and let me stay in the house alone. I ‘guarded’ the house and just stared at the feeble light of the lamps. Fear was all that I felt and my pillowcase was always damp with tears. The only time I could feel my mother’s care was in the morning. Every morning, when I went to school, she would say, “Take care!” Or when I was home, she would say, “Oh, your are back. Have you finished all your homework?”
On the one hand, I could show off my independence to my classmates. But on the other hand, I always doubted whether my mother loved me? Gradually, our relationship deteriorated further and further. When I had problems, I rarely talked to her.
However, in one examination, my results were very bad. When I returned to home, I never mentioned this. Several days later, when I went home and opened the door as usual, the sight was unbelievable! My mother was not doing her work. She was sitting on a chair and staring blankly. It seemed that she had a heavy heart. She turned around and said, “You come with me!” I didn’t understand what would happen, so I entered her room slowly.
“Did you have the examination recently?” She gazed at me. I didn’t reply. Instead, I bit my lower lip and stood still.
“Why are your results so poor? How did you do the revision? And what is more important is why didn’t you tell me? Give me the reason!” She scolded me. From the look in her eyes, I knew that she was very angry and disappointed. I still kept my mouth shut and just listened.
My mother eventually stopped scolding me and said, “If you have any opinions, please tell me!”
“Nothing. Anyway, you won’t care. Leave me alone.” I whispered to myself. But as I said this I looked at my mother and saw that she was looking at me sorrowfully, I bowed my head immediately to escape from this view. Everything became silent suddenly am I only heard a soft voice from my mother. “You can go….”
I turned around and back to my room. Near the door, I turned around to look at her and I could see that she was looking at me with a her eyes full of tears.
That night I lay on my bed. I didn’t know whether it was hot or I was ill. I couldn’t fall asleep anyway. I coughed and coughed and tossed and turned. Suddenly my door opened quietly. I closed my eyes immediately. I heard a few steps. It was my mother! After a while, I carefully opened one eye just a little. I could see that she was squatting down and mending a sock. A cool wind was blowing against my back. My mother had bought a fan into my room. She was looking at me and I was trying my best to pretend to be sleeping. I only heard her sigh and I was sure she knew that I was not asleep. Indeed as expected, she spoke, “The weather is quite hot. My room has windows, so you use this” She stopped for a while and spoke again, “I know you hate me, but I want you to know something. Everyone must have their responsibility and work. If you seeking a dream, it must be worthwhile, and you must pay for this kind of dream. I need your support …… Anyway, I am your mother and every mother loves her children.” At that moment, I could hear that her voice was shuddering and hoarse.
Since that day, every morning, from my mother’s never-changing words—take care—I can feel her love. Every lunch time, from the lunch box, I feel her love. And every night, from her regretful eyes, I feel her love. I understand her work. And now that I know her heart, I feel her love.
~Kevin Ling Kin-man (Hong Kong)
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