Mother's day

Ok, I have to say I have hyped up this blog of my mom, and I am afraid that it wouldn't match the expectation any more. But I will try.

I just called home. My mom is out and my dad is in a spring trip with his colleagues. So I talked to the nanny for 1 minute and then hang up. Really, nothing to say to my mom anyway. I wouldn't even mention "Mother's Day" at all, because she just does not care.

Let's start to describe my mom. My mom is Meiying Bao (Oh, I just revealed the answer of my secret question for my banking account. If you dare, please steal my identity:-). She was a doctor in a state-owned factory before a stroke forced her into retirement. Although I am never close to my parents, I have to admit that my mom is a nice and warm person, at least before the stroke. I was very weak when I was a kid, so my mom always brought medicine from the factory for me, free of charge. One medicine made my teeth yellow. I often played with the medicine and her equipment when I got a chance. But to be honest, since I grew up with my grandma, I never got too much chance with my parents, so my memory about them was very very vague.

I think my parents were very traditional. They probably followed the crowd all the time and expected their children to do the same. They were not socially capable. When all relatives got together during festivals, I felt they were taken advantage of in various occations. My relatives were not evil, but they would laugh at my dad's booksmart and my mom's low capability of getting things done. My parents seemed getting used to it, and I do not think it really hurt them. But it is the reason why I never enjoyed the get-together of my big family. I do not know when it all started, but from very early on, I told myself, when I grow up, I want to stand up for my parents, so nobody would laugh at them for them minor flaws. Well, I guess it sows the seed for all my ambitions of upward mobility.

One story: It happened when I was about junior high school student, and my sister was high school student. We were horsing about the apartment, and we found some thick "balloons". We put a lot of water in them. They looked like rubber balls that were able to change shape freely. We threw them around, and I forgot whether we broke one or two. But we had a lot of fun playing with them, thinking they were the best balloon ever. When my parents came back, they were sorta mad, but did not say anything more. Several points: 1) these balloons were actually condoms. I realized that when I relived those old memories a couple of years ago. 2) My sister was a high school student, but she did not know that. I did not know either. You can see the sex education in my family, or in most Chinese families, sucks. 3) My parents were having sex back then. I do not think they are any more. They were in a stage of de facto seperation for quite some time, probably since my mom's unexpected stroke back in 1995. Somehow, I always had fear that they would get divorce, but amazingly they got through for so many years. I wonder whether they really thought of this option before. Maybe not, maybe yes. But on the other hand, maybe there was something I was never able to understand. For example, my mom liked to complain and was stingy, and my dad was impatient and tried to escape from the real world. Were these traits just perfect for each other? I do not know. Here is the best explanation I can come up with: they tolerate this loveless marriage, because love is never in their expectation when they got married. Years of frictions just made them to take for granted that it is the life all about, and they convinced themselves that they would have to make it through because there is no alternatives.

I would stop psycho-analyse my parents here. The least I can say is that I do not really understand them. Maybe I've never tried. But do I love them? That is a tough tough question. Obviously, I do not want to stay with them for more than 1 month. That's for sure. But do I love them? I do not know how to answer them. Let me start with a story. Back in 1995. One day, I suddenly got to know that my mom had a stroke when she was writing a prescription for a worker in the factory. She was hauled to the emergency room. I biked like crazy to home, only seeing my dad biking like crazy to the hospital, carrying all the daily necessities for my mom. I kept biking. Something choatic ran through my mind, but I cannot remember what any more. Some sort of music, I think. I then biked to the hospital, seeing my mom lying on the bed lifeless. I cried. I was so used to see my mom walking like a bull, carrying big shopping bags from the farmer market to home. Now she was just helplessly lying in the bed, calm like a baby. My dad talked to me, and I cried more, but tried to stop, tried to show my dad that I was a big boy and could handle anything. My tear just kept coming out. For the first couple of days, my mom couldn't even recognize the most familiar faces. I asked one of my good friends to read some of my favorite stories (Maybe it is only one story) and I recorded them. I believed that these stories would stimulate her brain so her intellegence would get back to normal. Of course, nobody really appreciated my effort (except my friend who recorded it). Sadly, my mom never got back to normal. I could feel that she was quite a different person completely. To say the least, her self-esteem was evaperated. She used to be so proud of being independent; but now she had to rely on all the medicine to bring down the blood pressure and other people to take care of her. I was so sorry for her.

I do not know whether the above story tells anything to answer the question of "whether I love my mom". But on the flip side, who cares about these big questions? Details of the life are much more subtle and interesting than any "yes"/"no". So please allow me to be vague on this question, even on the Mother's Day. Sorry, mom, I cannot put up with an half-assed "I love you" even on a Mother's Day. But here is some thing I can say: I remember so many things about you. I remember your awkwardness towards me: you wanted to be close to me, but since I grew up with my grandparents, you never succeeded. I remember your harsh criticism towards my sister. I remember you picked on my dad over small errors. I remember your bad cooking skills, but you tried. I remember your able body before the stroke. I remember your self-depreciation after the stroke, a strategy to make your self-esteem hurt less. I remember you still worked after retirement with your sick body, earning 6 dollars for half a day, touring different middle schools to carry out medical examinations. I remember sometimes I worried about your safety, because I know sometimes you just walked out of the apartment unannounced, making other people worrying about you. Maybe you tried to reclaim your independence, anouncing to the world that you still had an able body. You just never gave up, a real fighter. If I inherited any thing from you, I think that's it.

I guess I lost myself in all these details, and no conclusions can be drawn today. My mom is just a good person with numerous flaws, and I am not sure how I really feel about her, in the past, in the present or in the futre. But if I keep exploring the life as it comes, I will figure it out eventually. In the meanwhile, Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I know you do not care, but I just want to say that, and there is nothing you can do about it, just like the tape of stories I gave you ten years ago.