Story of My Mother

Song of My Mother Towards the back of a closet, in the corner where the dust tends to linger and the light shies away, hangs a brown suede leather jacket right next to a pair of old jeans. A jacket that--in its newer days, when the zipper still worked and both pockets were hole-less--a young woman wore on occasion. But, both the jeans and jacket are a bit faded now, the threads have turned awry, and the zippers have lost their shine. The woman has now passed it down to her daughter, but her daughter never wears it.

Making fashion a hobby of mine never appealed to me. If two designer purses were placed in front of me, I would not notice the difference. I was not raised a 'fashionista ' and never learned the details to accessorizing. I wear a pair of jeans and do not worry if I will make America 's Next Top Model. But, as I get older, and the days turn cold - well, as cold as it can get in Texas - I always stayed away from wearing my mother 's brown Greaser styled jacket, preferring a more in-style sweater or hoodie. It 's not because I do not like it; in fact, it is just the opposite. I love that old jacket because embedded with each crease and woven through each comforting scent come many great memories -- memories formed with my mother that, unlike the disorganized clothes in my ill-lit closet, will not fade with time.

My mother bought the jacket in a small clothing store in Queens, New York, sometime before I was born. "The weather is much colder there and that was the style back then. I just liked how it looked, really. Much like guys and cars, huh? Although it looks thin, it 's surprisingly warm as well. It shows you that not everything is what it looks like, right?" she chuckled when I asked about her purchasing it. My mom said we could embellish it, upgrade the style, or maybe just change the light bulb so I can see it if I choose to pull it out and make it my own. "You 're pretty creative, honey. You really could do it."

Citations: Eric Liu, "Song for my Father"