Thoughts of a Ham Sandwich

eyebrows

 My mom is known for being outspoken, especially in my dad's family. She isn't loud, in any way. But if she has something to say she will say it. In the past few years I have been able to witness some of her verbal throw-downs but apparently, she's participated in them since before I was born. Every once in a while someone mentions times words of glorious fire fell from her lips and I wish I had been there to bask in her glory.

I don't know why my mom held her tongue around me and my siblings. I suspect she thought we were too young to be aware of the family drama. Because of this, I have no memories of her speaking up. Instead, I remember times when her eyebrows pinched together and her lips formed a line. I later learned these were the times she wanted to say something but, for whatever reason, did not.

I was young, the first time I remember this happening. Young enough to be helped into the back seat of our silver blue minivan and reminded to put on a seat belt. My grandma sat in the passenger seat while my mom drove. I don't remember the weather outside, where we were going, or the occasion that brought my grandmother's presence but I remember her asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I don't even remember my answer. I do, however, remember her response. She smiled and sort of chuckled at my most likely fun and improbable dreams. She then began to tell me that having babies was the single most important thing a woman could do. My eyes darted to the rearview mirror where the reflection of my mom's eyebrows laid stitched.

In sixth grade, two boys and I were put together to do a group project. The boys had always been nice to me and I considered them friends so I wasn't particularly peeved by this. I watched for a moment as the boys discussed their plans for the project. Once they determined what color of marker they wanted on the poster I asked how I could help. The self-proclaimed leader looked me over, met the other boy's eyes, and laughed. He told me to sit still and look pretty. I mistook this as a compliment. Once the school day ended and I returned to my home, I told my mom of the encounter. Her brows furrowed but she didn't say a word.

I have always been more like my mom. I've unconsciously picked up her humor, her way of seeing the world, and the way she combines the two. Her outspokenness is in me too, though I'm still learning how and when to use it. I wish she'd been more willing to speak up when my legs were still short and my mind impressionable. I wish she'd used those moments to teach me that silence isn't always the best response. I wish I'd picked up how to craft sentences that make people's jaws drop to their knees. Instead, I learned to pull my eyebrows together and bite my tongue. I don't hold a drop of resentment towards my mom, there was no way she could have known. But I think we'd both be more powerful women if she'd done more that scrunched her eyebrows. 

AN: Another memoir thing. For my midterm I'm supposed to write a five page memoir; I don't know how the heck I'm going to do it. I think I might write about the boys that use to live next door to me when I was in 2nd grade. I might be able to pull five pages from that. If I do do that, would you guys be interested in reading? I don't know. Do you like reading my memoirs? Should this be more of a thing? 

Thanks for reading. I had more of a following for a minute there, but I think we're back to the standard two to three readers. Oh well. Perhaps I'm not meant to be wattpad famous. It's probably a good thing, actually.