See the Difference?

I’m Rye. I have a wife and a four year old son.  

And a mom whom I feel doesn’t want me right from the start.

I know I sound melodramatic.

Emo as how this generation would make of my statement.

But really. I never felt she loved me even once.

I realized this when I graduated from kindergarten.

That early, I remembered how cold she was when I gave her my medals and awards.

She didn’t have that happy smile other moms have though the only award

their children has is a loyalty award.

Yes, I topped the class. But I failed to win my mom’s heart.

I started to think that something was wrong with me.

That if only I could correct that flaw, things would change.

She would then treat me as her son.

I was her only child, but instead I felt like I was her only mistake in life.

She treated everything else in her life with passion.

She was a musician when youth was still on her side, and when

she got a little older, she worked in a recording company as a staff.

I never heard of my dad.

The only conversations my mom and I shared were about dull things

like payments in school, scholarship grants and work.

We were well-off and I look up to her for that,

being a single mom and all, but that wasn’t enough.

I needed a mom, not money.

Time passed. I grew up.

Then I met Carrie.

I feel guilty every time I think that I just fell for her

because I was looking for a mother figure, but as days went by,

I realized she was more than that.

She was the ideal wife every man could dream of.

I thought I was going to be happy then, but I was wrong.

Things got even worse for me.

Mom treated Carrie like a daughter.

There’s nothing wrong with that at all, but the thing is,

I was her child, not Carrie.

Self-pity and jealousy were eating me all up.

Carrie noticed it before we got married.

I explained everything to her and she understood at once.

I admire her respect for our situation since she never

dipped a finger and tried to patch things up between us.

I can’t thank God enough for giving me such a beautiful person.

After two years, we had Carl.

He was the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.

Not only because he was chubby, but also because he looked like me. Yea, I’m bragging.

Then things got even worse between mom and me.

She treated Carl as if he was her own.

I wanted to shout at her every time he would cuddle Carl.

“Hey! What about me? I’m also your son, remember?”

But of course, I didn't do that.

Mom included 'manners' in one of our boring and stiff talks.

Yet one day, as I entered the house, mom had a look I've never

seen in her face before.

She reached for my hand as I neared her. I never felt relieved and very happy in my life.

The wall between us finally collapsed.

"Rye." She smiled at me. She looked young despite her age.

"What is it mom?"

"I'm sorry." She suddenly had tears in her eyes.

"For what?" I wanted her say what she did wrong. Call me harsh, but no one can blame me.

"For being so unmotherly to you all these years."

I didn't know what to say. I felt angry again.

"I know you feel angry."

Can she read my mind?

"But it's just that..."

Silence.

"What mom?"

She was uneasy, as she searched for the right words to say.

"You..."

I listened intently.

"You look exactly like your dad."

"Oh. So I actually have a dad." Sarcasm filled my voice.

She was silent again.

"Sorry mom. I just---"

"I know how you feel. And a sorry is not enough to take away the pain you've endured all

your life."

It was my turn to hold back the tears.

"But I can't bear to see you. The moment you were born, I was disgusted at your

face. You remind me of the person who took my career and my future away from me."

She was a musician. Maybe she met Dad in one of her gigs and just left her hanging when

she got pregnant.

She wanted to explain more but I hugged her before she could open her mouth to speak.

"Shhhh Mom. I understand now."

"Don't you want to know?" She looked puzzled.

"Yes. But something else."

"What is that?"

"Is Carl any different? He looks like me too."

A minute passed before she realized the shift of the topic.

"Yes. He's different. He's your son. Not your dad's. See the difference?"

I smiled. "Yes. Dad and I am different."

MVJLO 10.02.2010