The tiniest love

(Written a few days ago, finished up today.)

            On the few occasions I spent time with my birth mother and my brother Kirk, she would constantly obsess over his food consumption. Had he eaten enough, had he eaten too little, had he eaten too fast?

I was used to her creating the illusion of caring about my brother more than me in all aspects, so this was just another usual thing.

However, somewhere along the way something changed and she decided that since she wasn't around to take care of her son and I was around, I would be in charge of making sure he doesn't choke to death on a chicken nugget. "Make sure you watch your brother, don't let him eat too fast."

            She never once told me to watch my brother to make sure he doesn't get into trouble, grows up into a good person, respects his elders, respects his belongings; she wasn't interested in instilling values—although everything was through me—that she didn't have.

You would think though, someone lacking important aspects of being a respectful human being that’s productive to society would want their child to grow up better than they did. There is a chance an adult without poor upbringing would recognize its importance, but considering she's sociopathic—at least by my analysis—it has never crossed her mind and never will because her conscience does not even exist.

            Today I had just walked out of therapy, and I was getting into my mom's car. I was on the phone with my dad, and we were talking about my session, my previous night, and we got on the subject of what I had eaten because my medication annihilates my appetite and it is common for me to forget to eat because I won't be hungry, plus I had just mentioned that I couldn't sleep at all last night. I said that I had eaten yesterday once, I had nachos at the movies. I hadn't eaten since then, so I would eat something today relatively soon even though I was not hungry (he suggested I eat so my energy from lack of sleep doesn't run low).

            As I reassured him, my mom chimed in and said, "Oh you will be eating soon."

            She said it in a way that she says a lot of things—matter-of-fact. When it comes to my mom and rules around respect for others, property, items, and self, there's pretty much a zilch chance of wavering it.

            I guess what I’m trying to say is how grateful I am for something so profound to me. A lot of people I come across are extremely selfish and disrespectful towards their parents over the most trivial things without any reason behind their actions other than “just because”.

I came to the conclusion that because during the crucial years of childhood development, I was not raised within a loving environment or home, and truthfully my childhood was the complete opposite. Any form of love expressed now is entirely unexpected, and means so much more than it would had I grown up normally.

So while my friends may be complaining their parents harp on them when they’re out late at night, I’m thankful every time my dad calls me to ask me where I am and who I’m with.

Today when both of my parents cared about what I had eaten and when I had eaten last even though I’m seventeen. . . it really hit home because it was something specific that I had never gotten when I should have, when it mattered most.