My Mother

Montana and me

At the dentist’s this morning, I noticed a copy of Are You My Mother? on the table. I thought about the countless times I read that book to my granddaughter. She loved the part where the great big machine made a loud noise. I especially remember reading it to her in the Dallas airport one time, and just when she joined in to help with the loud noise, I noticed a woman sitting across the aisle who was enjoying my granddaughter’s enjoyment almost as much as I was.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “my mother,” or on some topic suggested by the photo.

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

One thought on “My Mother”

  1. I don’t know why things happened the way they did. Maybe she just didn’t know how to express herself with expressions of love like kissing or telling somebody she loved them. Seems like she never wanted me around. When she needed or wanted to punch somebody she always seemed to find me. She’d sit me down at the table open a book telling me get to reading. I don’t understand why she was the way she was, I loved her will always love her she’s my mother.

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