I want my mom to be proud of me. That’s not a feeling I’ve had since I was in elementary school.
My mom was a writer, who gave up college and her dreams to raise her kids. She had an old suitcase where she kept her story about the homeless hippie kid who was really a millionaire, her notebooks, her beautiful poems, comments and encouragement from her teachers.
As a teenager and a college student, I was too busy trying to prove that I wasn’t her to dream of making her proud. But now I want to – as a writer. I want to one day look back, and think how proud she must be of me for not having given up.