The Day I Learned of My Mothers Regrets.

 Did I say day? I meant year, but I guess things officially hit you on a day to day basis. Now, I could take the time and formulate a whole bunch of words describing the unfathomable love I have for my parents and that my childhood is a golden replica of what all childhoods should be like and that it belongs in a glass box. But frankly I feel as though I’d be wasting your time because everyone has the same desperately appreciative and possessive feeling about their family, or some of us do at least. What I’m simply trying to say is that aside from being amazing parents and going a great job raising me, I think my parents did some, excuse my french. Stupid s**t. So let’s carry on. My mother is 49 with a limited community college education, she was raised in Armenia, she is the oldest of 4 sisters with an understanding yet very traditional mother and a father that, well, lets just say my mother started smoking cigarettes at the age of 16 and to this day has not allowed herself to “light one up” anywhere near her father. My mother is from a traditional/typical Armenian family and when I say that I mean she came from a home where interaction with a male was unacceptable unless you were married to the man, then maybe you could ask about his favorite movie. In result to this obnoxious, old school, concentration camp type of belief, my mother married at a young age. And in result of that, on one unanticipated scholastic day when I was 13 I thought it would be a good idea to let my curiosity take over and asked my mother why she married so young and she plainly and bluntly said. “Well, so that I could date him.” And of course I was confused out of my mind. Even at the age of 13 I was sure that dating came before marriage.