I am a pain in the ass. That is an ice-cold fact. I’m sarcastic, crass, loud as all get-out. In fact, I’m pretty sure my parents had my hearing tested about nine times before they realized that, nope, I’m just that loud. Speaking of parents, though, you have to wonder who’s behind this contraption. What woman could possibly withstand the kind of shenanigans I must put forth? Well, wonder no further.
This is my mom, Cynthia June Smith, and she’s the greatest mom ever. Don’t fight me on this because I’ll win. I could tell you story after story of the absurdities that flow from her five-foot frame or about the lullabies she sings our dog, Baxter, as he drifts off to sleep. But I’ll just stick with this:
Once upon a time, I graduated from Notre Dame with a Marketing degree. I got a job in the corporate world, hated it, and came home crying to my mother. And she did what she does. She held me. She took me to my favorite Mexican restaurant. She watched the Golden Girls with me. She fixed me.
Fast forward about a year when I decided I wanted to move to Los Angeles. Because, get this, I wanted to write and act. Oh, yeah.
“Hey, Mom and Dad, that Notre Dame degree was rad, but I’m gonna go ahead and completely waste it on a pipe dream. Thanks anyway!”
I told my mom the plan and tried as best I could not to pee my pants and cry. And do you know what she said to me? She told me she loved me. She told me she believed in me.
And she told me to fly.
So, to all of the mothers out there who love their kids like my mom does (I mean, almost as well as she does; like I said, mine is the best), thank you. Everything we are, everything we aspire to be we owe to you.
And on this Mother’s Day, to my mother, I thank you. Because someday I will fly. But only because you gave me the wings.