Love of a Mother
Thi V. Nguyen
Professor Jennifer Beard
Course English 1113
October 29, 2012
Essay 1
There is a quote that says: Mothers are angels who teach their children to fly. Indeed mothers are angels and although we often think that mothers were sent to torture us especially in our adolescent years when we would rather go out with friends instead of washing the dishes or doing our assignments, our mothers nevertheless become our pillar, not just of faith but also our pillar of strength. Mothers may often be misunderstood but it does not mean that they do not know better.
My earliest memory of my mother at the age of six is that of a very pretty face. For me she was the most beautiful woman alive and nothing compares with her. Even if she was unlike the celebrity mothers who wear designer clothes and do not get out to eat in fancy restaurants all the time, my mother is very real. My mother was small or petite, but she was a formidable foe if you cross her. I loved the way she combed her hair getting ready for bed, letting those dark brown locks loose and shiny against the glare of the overhead light. I loved the way she would lovingly wipe my back for perspiration after playing under the hot sun all afternoon not minding the fact that I smelled like a baseball glove worn for two seasons. On the incidents that my siblings and I cross my mother, those big brown eyes of her would squint in disapproval, mouth pursed. But I came to love that about her. When those brown eyes do start to squint, it means I have done something wrong.
When I started middle school at the age of eleven, mom was my ally. To me, school was a world where ghosts and bad guys lurk. Instead of laughing at my fears, mom showed me instead how great school can be. On my first day of school, she prepared my favorite snacks and drove me to school. Instead of leaving me at the gates, she came out of the car, knelt down and tenderly cupped my face in both hands and told me:
“The only thing
Professor Jennifer Beard
Course English 1113
October 29, 2012
Essay 1
There is a quote that says: Mothers are angels who teach their children to fly. Indeed mothers are angels and although we often think that mothers were sent to torture us especially in our adolescent years when we would rather go out with friends instead of washing the dishes or doing our assignments, our mothers nevertheless become our pillar, not just of faith but also our pillar of strength. Mothers may often be misunderstood but it does not mean that they do not know better.
My earliest memory of my mother at the age of six is that of a very pretty face. For me she was the most beautiful woman alive and nothing compares with her. Even if she was unlike the celebrity mothers who wear designer clothes and do not get out to eat in fancy restaurants all the time, my mother is very real. My mother was small or petite, but she was a formidable foe if you cross her. I loved the way she combed her hair getting ready for bed, letting those dark brown locks loose and shiny against the glare of the overhead light. I loved the way she would lovingly wipe my back for perspiration after playing under the hot sun all afternoon not minding the fact that I smelled like a baseball glove worn for two seasons. On the incidents that my siblings and I cross my mother, those big brown eyes of her would squint in disapproval, mouth pursed. But I came to love that about her. When those brown eyes do start to squint, it means I have done something wrong.
When I started middle school at the age of eleven, mom was my ally. To me, school was a world where ghosts and bad guys lurk. Instead of laughing at my fears, mom showed me instead how great school can be. On my first day of school, she prepared my favorite snacks and drove me to school. Instead of leaving me at the gates, she came out of the car, knelt down and tenderly cupped my face in both hands and told me:
“The only thing