‘Perfect Son’
I thought about this morning how you are the definition of ‘the perfect son’ (‘the perfect child’):
My mother would be proud of you for having met your wife in high school, for working hard to build yourself up, for having multiple children, for keeping an immaculate workspace, for graduating with a university degree, and for providing well for your family.
It’s come to my mind this morning that, in fact, YOU’RE THE KIND OF CHILD THAT SHE DESIRES TO HAVE.
You are the person that she would love to show off to her siblings.
You are the child that she would have given a hundred thumbs-up to (if she had a hundred hands).
You are the child that she would have been excited to talk about all day, every day.
Married young.
Multiple children.
Steady job.
Post-secondary education.
Family man.
My mother has repeatedly said, “What more can a person want? A spouse. Children. Good job. Home. That’s all anyone needs to be happy.
Any person with these things is happy.”
You are her ideal child.
You are the kind of child that she wished to have when she was growing up in her village.
When I envision you, all I see is my mother saying to me,
“This is the kind of life you should have, this is the kind of life you should have, this is the kind of life you should have.”
It didn’t cross my mind when I spoke to you on the phone about having children that, actually, you are the child that she would love.
She sees my love for travel as frivolous.
She sees my hobby of eating exotic foods as trivial.
She sees my love for Barry as ridiculous.
She sees my love for reading and creativity as absurd.
She sees my exercise habit as unfortunate.
She sees my low-paid job as pitiful.
She sees my single status as something to cry about.
I have been nothing but a pitiful, shameful mess to my mother.
If she had you for a son, she would kiss and hug you, she would laugh and laugh, she would praise you as being her ‘dutiful, obedient son’.
A good son for doing the right things.
If my mother gave birth to you and you turned out exactly as you are now, my mother wouldn’t be the way she is now — wondering why she has a child like me.
