Personal Narrative Essay: My Mother's Story

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I had taken my mother out to lunch at my favorite Chinese restaurant in hopes of putting her in a good mood, but it was a disaster. When we met at the Four Directions Restaurant, she eyed me with immediate disapproval. "Ai-ya! What's the matter with your hair?" she said in Chinese. "What do you mean, 'What's the matter,' " I said. "I had it cut." Mr. Rory had styled my hair differently this time, an asymmetrical blunt-line fringe that was shorter on the left side. It was fashionable, yet not radically so. "Looks chopped off," she said. "You must ask for your money back." I sighed. "Let's just have a nice lunch together, okay?" She wore her tight-lipped, pinched-nose look as she scanned the menu, muttering, "Not too many good things, this menu."…show more content…
"Besides, unnecessary stress isn't good for your heart." "Nothing is wrong with my heart," she huffed as she kept a disparaging eye on the…show more content…
"But before I drop you off, let's stop at my place real quick. There's something I want to show you." My mother had not been to my apartment in months. When I was first married, she used to drop by unannounced, until one day I suggested she should call ahead of time. Ever since then, she has refused to come unless I issue an official invitation. And so I watched her, seeing her reaction to the changes in my apartment-from the pristine habitat I maintained after the divorce, when all of a sudden I had too much time to keep my life in order-to this present chaos, a home full of life and love. The hallway floor was littered with Shoshana's toys, all bright plastic things with scattered parts. There was a set of Rich's barbells in the living room, two dirty snifters on the coffee table, the disemboweled remains of a phone that Shoshana and Rich took apart the other day to see where the voices came from. "It's back here," I said. We kept walking, all the way to the back bedroom. The bed was unmade, dresser drawers were hanging out with socks and ties spilling over. My mother stepped over running shoes, more of Shoshana's toys, Rich's black loafers, my scarves, a stack of white shirts just back from the

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