The First One

It’s the love hate relationship that goes back to when the first caveman discovered fire, told his mom, and she said, “that’s nice honey, but you should really sit with your back straight, you don’t want to look like your father.” That’s right, my first journal entry is going to be a story about the first person I saw coming into this world; here’s a story about me, my mother, and a park bench. This is going to be exciting.

We’re walking away from the Eiffel tower, which by the way is the worst euphemism for a threesome. It just does not make any sense. What does a national monument have to do with a teenager's wet dream? Anyways, I have been feeling sick the entire day. Not the fever, runny nose, poop the bed, kind of sick but one where walking a block felt like I just ran a 5k. Everything hurt, pain had seeped into my joints, imagine wanting to explore a city and not having the energy to walk 100 feet without taking a break, it also turned me into an inconsiderate man-child. My frustrated demeanor was apparently affecting the "mood".

The sun was high in the sky, beating down with all its might. I must have stopped walking in a straight line because the next moment, my mom suggests we stop, sit, and I take a nap on a lovely park bench. So, I did, while she just sat there for 30 minutes, watching me. Then we got up and continued our day. I told you this was riveting.

Parents sacrifice a lot to make us happy. Yesterday, my mom sacrificed her time in a beautiful city to make sure I didn’t get mugged while unconscious in the middle of a park. Sure, it was only 30 minutes, a small piece of her time but it made me appreciate the sacrifices that seem small or insignificant or the ones that we simply don’t notice.

Moms are awesome, I'm going to go tell her that.