Handing in My Completed Thesis

I never thought I would make it here. Tomorrow is the day that I am going to hand in my completed thesis. To me it isn’t finished. It is 80 pages of hard work that I am proud of. But the novel isn’t finished. I have completed as much as I could within the past two semesters that I have been working on my thesis as a whole. At first the brainstorming process took me longer than I thought. Once I manifested my idea to write a novel the research stage had to begin. Once the research stage was over I had to then start writing. I wrote my first chapter over winter break and I have been painstakingly writing ever since.

I am happy to say that I am handing in what I have so far and I am happy about how far I have come. I do believe that there is much more work to do. This summer will be dedicated to finishing my novel and I will do my best to send it out to get it published. I am really hoping to be able to find a publishing house who would like to publish my novel. I believe it has a strong message and I think the story is compelling enough that people will want to read it. I am just coming to the climax of the story. I have been setting the plot up for the “problem that needs to be solved.” I have become fond of my characters and I want to see good things happen to them but I am still unsure of how to do that in this novel.

My job is to tell a story. My second job is to raise awareness to alcoholism and how they affect families and loved ones. My third job is to entertain the reader and get them to love my characters as much as I do. I hope I have done all of these jobs well.

I’m excited about my project and I am excited about graduation. But just because I am receiving my diploma does not mean that the work ends here. I am going to continue to work on this story and make it the best it can be.

I still really need a title. Any suggestions?

Ideas for Digital Website

This blog post will cover some brainstorming idea for the digital website portion of my thesis project.

I won’t say I hadn’t been giving this some thought already (even though it’s always a work on progress). For the digital website, I remember I spoke to Dr. Z at one point to go over how to set it up. She suggested using WordPress as more of a website in stead of a blog (I think maybe kind of like what I’m doing now).

As for content, I plan to include the following:

  • The Pilot
  • Episode 2
  • The Literature Review
  • Blog posts
  • Character backgrounds (maybe?)
  • Progress photos (similar to the ones from my presentation)
  • I was also thinking about including a brief self reflected video (If there’s time. Unfortunately I most likely will not be doing the documentary of the progress. Unless either I never need sleep or somehow more hours get put into the day.)

That’s what I’m thinking. If there’s anything I could be missing, comment below.

Thesis in 3 (Part 2)

Being A Superhero and Black Af

Didn’t nobody want Hancock to be a superhero. Hancock, from Columbia Pictures’ Hancock, features Will Smith playing, basically, a nigga, with superpowers. And by nigga I’m going by Chris Rock’s definition thereof, the type of brother you hide your kids and wife from, from whom you hide the fact that you got any money on you because you best believe that nigga is gonna rob the shit out of you. Of course that’s hyperbole, but only sort of. A better defintion of what it might mean for someone, particularly black, to be the kind of nigga I’m referring to that reflects Hancock’s disposition is […] .

Because if you who is reading had ever seen Hancock you’d know that homeboy got no breaks as the kind of abject despairing Negro he was. I mean, dude was introduced slumped on a bench from obviously drinking too much either the night before or, perhaps, hours before the opening scene; and dude can’t seem to do nothing right. Like, catching bad guys for Hancock is like letting a toddler take the wheel of some go-fast car. Fucking smashing the getaway car into buildings and shit; he’s even drinking on the “job”! It makes sense no one likes Hancock, though. He’s a nigga. He drinks, curses, unlike Miles, who you who is reading might want to consider as paragon in terms of finding you a Miles Morales to bring home to yo mama and daddy as boyfriend or bae or boo-thang or another. It’s apparent Hancock – pun intended – is his worse enemy. But at the same time, society got this weird sense of what it mean to be a superhero going on that casts Hancock, a visibly black motherfucking superhero, as more of an antihero, like Hellboy kind of, despite all the good he do.

Having not seen Hancock in, like, however many years now would mean I’d be kind of remiss for not mentioning that yours truly ain’t seen the film in, like, however many years. Now, but the aforementioned premise of the film sets up what’s considered, in history, particularly Blaxploitative film history, as the Big Black Buck, “big (sic) baaadddd niggers, over sexed and savage, violent and frenzied as they lust for white flesh,” as cited by Rob Lendrum (“The Super Black Macho”) as having come from Donald Bogle by way of D.W. Griffith (Birth of a Nation). A buck (Lendrum, et al) orientation is basically run of the mill of what it mean to be a black superhero; or at least what it did mean. Lendrum’s “Super” actually about the criteria for most, if not all, black superpeeps circa 1970, so civil right and the black power movement. So ingrained in the ideology of these fictional do-gooders were the sensibilities of black folks tryin to get out from under Whitey’s [bullshit] that they would just reinforce the problematics of black (em)power(ment) in the first place, failing to critically analyze the subject material at hand, in turn undermining the end goal of, perhaps, portraying blacks as something other than black af or “baaaaddd niggers” (ibid). Talking about a one Huey P Newton’s reading of probably the spear for the canon of blaxploitation films, Sweet, Sweetback’s Baad Asssss Song, Lendrum: “Newton reads the film as a revolutionary text while reaffirming the Black power movement’s macho attitude and assertion of patriarchal family head,” and how that “manhood is achieved two ways: sex and violence against the white oppressor” ( ). Which is not the case for Hancock as he’s not featured as vagina-crazy, cock-swinging, howling black lunatic trying to fuck any and every white and on two legs. Hancock, if anything, if nothing else, more aligns with Lendrum’s second tenet or axis of “Black Macho” circa civil rights, that of “possess[ing] ‘super savage’ abilities, or hyperbolized physical powers of the uncontrollable body of the Buck” ( ). From this standpoint super-blacks are assholes – and Hancock, if you who is reading has seen, none to happy about being called an asshole.

Oh, I wish a human would.

Hancock: god-like, cock diesel, fast af,  can fly, impervious to bullets, black. What this does to Hancock, et al is they “reinforce stereotypes and strategies of dehumanization that have positioned the black subject” as no brain and all brawn. Which’s Hancock all day till he’s reunited with former bae, Mary Embrey, who been on the low under the guise of wife to Ray Embrey, played by Jason Bateman, who the guy that turns Hancock’s life around – wherein “white is right”-ness comes into play. The Embreys and Hancock cross paths when Ray car get stuck on a train track as an oncoming train that have plenty of time to stop but gives no fucks about the fact that there a car in its path wont stop therefore  Hancock, he just flip Ray’s car over onto another car, I want to say, which leave he hisself with no time to get out the train path, so he just stand there lowering his shoulders, letting the train crash into him, which does jack shit to him, because he’s Hancock, who derails the train as a result, obviously. It get better, too, as motorists of all walks and talks disembark their vehicles to scold Hancock for having not just flown up into the sky with the car thereby preventing the collision to which Hancock just play flip and crack jokes on his hecklers just before Ray clapbacks with how everyone should basically STFU because Hancock the reason he’s getting to home to his wife and kid, you dolts.

Hancock being Hancock isn’t super gracious or anything, expresses zero gratitude for nothing, but herein lies (or laid?) an opportunity for our troubled black, Buck af, protag to get in good with the “puny human gnats,” to quote Galactus right quick,” and he, Hancock, he bites. He takes Ray’s invitation to join he and the fam for dinner thereby finally establishing a rapport with someone for a change, as well as reconnecting him with Mary (who unbeknownst to Ray is “super,” too), whereby Ray, who is a Hancock fan, asserts that in order for Hancock to turn the tide of public opinion about him, give the people someone to be proud of, that is in order to be taken seriously as someone unlike them, the people, he (Hancock) will have to get his life together. Following the logic of the film this amounts to Hancock going to prison where he’s rehabilitated(?) through a number of sundry discussions with other inmates who encourage him to share out about his life, and then Hancock has an epiphany. Scenes thereafter show him shaving his face, seemingly, literally, cleaning hisself up – turning into the kind of superhero Ray’s trying to encourage him to be – up to the point of actually being called on to disarm bank robbers, of which the leader is strangely akin to a Southern drawl-having, country bumpkin played by Eddie Marsan, who in this context actually works as the big, big baddie, if we read into it like that; but anyway, Hancock is also in full superhero regalia at this point, a stark transition for the hobo chic he was rocking prior to, rocking an all black leotard all clean with an eagle on his chest, all clean shaven and shit – a superhero. It’s not until, maybe, 30 mins left in the film is Hancock shown drinking again, having no reason to at all really, since he’s the HNIC, as in everybody loves him for having done a “Good Job,” something he borderline retardedly repeats to the police on sight during the bank heist, for saving hostages, prevailing over evil – all of which were pretty run of the mill for Hancock before his outward transformation, except that what constituted black superheroism in the fictional universe of Hancock was contingent on how “right” it was.

Now. As Lendrum writing in “Black Macho” (2005), black superheroism from Jump St., since civil rights and shit, was underpinned by long-privately-held prejudices and stereotypes of blacks that, unless critically analyzed for how nuanced they are and peculiar af to blacks, though there is nothing innate or inherent or inborn about them, come off as just random superhero characteristics. But like Lendrum say:


  1. “The alter ego [though in Hancock’s case there is none] although not sexually and socially rejected like his white counterpart, is often badgered and lacks the power of authority to change his emasculated position” (3…)
  2. “The black body of the superheroes is borrowed from the brutal Buck stereotype and the superpowers that they possess are often exaggerated attributes of the brutal buck or savage” (3…)
  3. The comics, like the films, fail to shed light on the social conditions that create this need, and instead depict the ghettos as places filled with pimps, hustlers and other snarling black buck criminals in need of a trouncing. ….What is worse is that this distinction oversimplifies a dynamic and complicated urban landscape that has developed due to hundreds of years of colonial history including slavery and economic barriers” (3…)


Now timeout. Understanding that third bullet requires insight into Hancock’s “business,” i.e., where he lives and what he does for a living, which is a) jackshit and b) in a trailer. No doubt the nigga (excuse me) in Hancock makes it hard for his ass to get anywhere in life, just the LQ (read: liquor store), presuming racial and social politics are just as palpable in the universe in the film as they in real life. Making Hancock unsuitable for any job, understandably so being that our homeboy is a superhero, unlike Superman or Spider-Man or Bruce Wayne, who do work, are white, and are very much so invested in the immediacy of the (white)world they inhabit. Even still not the point: the film fills the audience in on little to nothing about Hancock save for the fact that he’s, like, a million years old, once had relations with now-Ray’s wife, and that he was beat to shit, like, a million years ago, to the point of not remembering anything. (FYI Pounding whiskey the way Hancock do can do that to you too just so you know, but Hancock is only depicted as having an affinity for drinking the stuff, not actually getting drunk off it. Mostly he’s absent minded, careless, doesn’t give af about what or how he does what he does, having nothing really to do with blood alcohol content or anything, just arguably being a nigga. Which is fine; or at least should be fine, right?) Whatever Hancock’s life was prior to us in the audience, you, et al who are reading this and have seen the film, whether it was a week or a month or three years prior to his (Hancock’s) introduction, is a mystery. Hancock then as a “snarling black buck criminal [type of brother] in need of a trouncing,” following the logic of what the criteria Lendrum sets up,” is inherently unlikable as a black character unlikable as superhero of color whose blacks superheroics are not limited to a black community.

Check this out, though, because while a number of black characters come out during civil rights, e.g., Black Panther (who film out soon!), Luke Cage, Black Lightning, Sam Wilson (the incumbent Captain America) (wholly inspired by blaxploitation films come out during that time just so you know, just to remind you) have survived into today, they didn’t necessarily have the same mass appeal as other their more popularly and widely known white male counterparts; hence A one Doc Nama’s reading of the hard body, cock diesel motherfucking Luke Cage as being especially “Groid,” like, “this brother was really rough,” he says, which ties into the laughable linguistic endowment of circa civil right Luke Cage as having a sort of ridiculous patois, partly inspired by Chester Himes crime fiction, whereby Chester Himes invented this faux-Black language, meant to be jocular, which none of the earlier (White) writers of Luke Cage were let in on, “something I would’ve probably done,” says McDuffie, if he were, say, writing about Asian Americans, and then decided to read a bunch of Amy Tan not knowing that Tan was pulling the wool over readers’ eyes, so to say. Hence comics writer Grant Morrison writing concerning Cage “whose language bowdlerized urban argot in Marvel Universe-friendly oaths” (Supergods 253), like the infamous-ridiculous, “Sweet Christmas!” another time-tested quality, with Marvel’s on-screen version of Cage in the Netflix TV series Jessica Jones, bringing it back. McDuffie a little more sympathetic with it, though, calling the effort “a well intentioned attempt at making a language real” (YouTube).

And certainly the hubbub about what are appropriate and accurate accounts of representation has made the majority-white comics comic community leery about the characteristic they imbue their characters with because being called racist is not something that they or anyone wants, I want to say.  See a question posed to Bendis via Tumblr:

Bendis responds with “Write the individual” sort of “pshaw”-like, as if to say that there’s nothing else informing a given fictional individual but the fictional cosmos in which the characters inhabits, as if Bendis’ personal politics and ideological persuasions got nothing to do with the orientation of the individual. It’s almost as if he’s saying – and certainly Bendis is an authority when it comes to writing comics, etc. having been doing it now for mad years, garnering hisself uber-success – he can’t get the representation thing wrong, even just a little wrong.

But here’s the thing, you Nerds. “Well intentioned attempts as making a language real” that McDuffie makes salient in early stages of Cages, or even a reality real to the point that it makes salient black specific issues, in the context of Black superheroics, is typically limited to performing said superheroics in a black ghettos, where black superheroes concern themselves with Black people problems; whereas the white ones have more civic implications than political (or racial) that extend into other fucking universes, introducing readers to other fucking worlds and a bevy of alien language-speaking aliens, and on. What business do niggers got in outerspace when there’s, like, housing and employment issues to ameliorate, including sundry thug types dealing drugs to the kids them, right? See Lendrum: “When the black superhero burst onto the scene, the writers attempt to bestow them with values and a code of morality that is distinctly black” (ibid 367), making the message “black crime must be fought by black superheroes. Superman is ineffective at dealing with such problems” (ibid). So what then I ask you who is reading this is a writer, whether white or just unfamiliar with The Ways of Blackness, to do about incorporating black faces in white spaces, in place of white faces, where blackness historically marginalized, demonized, ostracized, criticized, and stigmatized?

Let me break y’all of with a theory. Given Hancock’s ultimate transformation from big brutal buck (Lendrum) type whose blackness and general worldview were problematic in the context of the Dominant(ly White) culture he inhabited; given that writers of black superpeeps highjacked popular perceptions of blacks only reinforced equally problematic perceptions of blacks; given the fact that there’s this crazy, crazy Push for Diversity Movement, whereby thereof proponents clamor all the do-dah-damn day about “Diversity!” “Representation!” “Multiculturalism!” blackening and gaying up everything; considering all of that now in the context of comics and what it means to depict a person of color or just some other random motherfucker who is not a classically handsome straight white dude, with some goddam dignity and who other real life equivalents of these very people can be proud of and look up to, what if – just what if, right? – the way to do that was to make them white af? To take these largely “straight out of Central Casting” type of motherfuckers, blacks and other POC, and make them into something else.

To take, for example, a brother like Hancock and have him endure the kind of transformation that the presidential candidate in Ben Carson tried running by potential voters (the one about how he grew up a dirty, ghetto, black kid with anger issues and holes in his socks and roaches and rats all up in he and his mama’s face, and but then turnt his life around by graduating head of the class, becoming the No.1 neurosurgeon in the whole fucking country); the kind of “From Rags to Riches” narrative that would only make sense to a considerable # of peeps about a considerable # of other peeps when it comes to succeeding at making it – cue the American Dream, right?

Under the right scruples it not as crazy farfetched as you might think it. Historically-speaking, distinctly black masks were limited to distinctly Black people problems specific to distinctly black communities when it would come to their distinctly black superheroism. All except for maybe a small numbers of them (e.g., Black Panther and Sam Wilson, who would inevitably rub shoulders with white male counterparts, reinforcing “good” black stereotypes and tropes, including PC Black tendencies and sensibilities, i.e., those respectability politics-having Blacks, with which real life equivalents would distinguish themselves from deemed “bad” blacks, and Whites would enforce as a kind of firewall against black activism gone seemingly awry, like Black peeps can’t ever be mad, e.g. think #blacklivesmatter; the kinds of Black people worthy of celebrity; the kind of brothers you take home to mama, like Miles), had jurisdiction just in the “hood,” where Black plight was palpable and out of the scope of Official Superhero Business for the majority of other, more popular, white, superheroes. I got no real way of actually knowing what be going through the heads of writers of comics when it come to how they reppin – representing – members for whom a large swath of their readerships are presumably supposed to identify with; but I can say that in an effort to understand, I made an inquiry. Disclosing this somebody’s identity, I run the risk of a biting off more than I can chew in terms of the beef I got with a good chunk of the Comics community for how they doing their diversity, and particularly with how Marvel doing Miles; or at least how they’re not doing him when it come to making not just a different kind of Spidey, but also redefining what it means to play superhero while Black Af. And be apprised, because while my beef largely located in linguistic endowment of the newly drafted Spider-Man Miles Morales, a proper verdict can’t be rendered in isolation to other aspects of the character.

Thesis in 3 (Part 1)


Oh, I Wish A Human Would

Dont get it twisted. Brian Michael Bendis not all that wrong in his take on the new half black half Spanish Spidey, Miles Morales. Mind you, that assessment also depends on how “in love” you who is reading this is or was, at one point or another, with the Spider-Man mythos in the first place. Which pretty much amounts to an underprivileged dweeb making it out here in these NY streets as the high-flying, deering do-having, Spider-Man after getting bitten by a radioactive spider that endows him with all types of arachnid-like powers from sticking to walls, climbing them, an enhanced sense of proprioception, to pulling off all manner of acrobatic shit. Per the usual too, then, this results in all kinds of coincidental calamities, of which we can pretty much thank our web slinging protag for bringing upon hisself as a sort of cosmic punishment for being awesome the way he is, including the classic unraveling of the immediacy of said protag’s world, which, in this case, stands for Peter Parker constantly wrestling with his sense of priorities as his sense of priorities do end up changing because, duh, he’s Spider-Man.

This paper, however, is hardly an indictment of Bendis as having done something wrong in his creation of Miles Morales, for it’s certainly fine and good that Miles is that way he is – all clean cut and eloquent and shit.

It’s more of a speculative (ad)venture as to what the hell is up with Miles’, with his language, and here’s what I mean. That Miles as a clearly black-faced youth in his assumption of the mantle of Spider-Man should of sounded less like his predecessor Peter Parker, who is white, and more unlike that. What does that mean, though? For this author it meant or means imbuing Miles with a linguistic variant historically associated with black and latino peeps, perhaps, a language classically associated with just some random dumb nigga who dont know better/wanna be better, one believed not to do nobody any favors when it comes to just about anything in life, except for maybe the purposes of spitting some dope behind rhymes on a rap track or, like, affording you yourself a good comeback for when you who is reading this is finding yourself needing something hurtfully clever to retort with when you’re pride is on the brink of shattering because some motherfucker(s) call(s) you a motherfucker and how yo mama so fat with her fat-self that her belt size equator or something. I’m talking about a language that as recent as Trayvon Martin has been a point of provocation for peeps in a debate as to what is an appropriate way of speaking that can or will or should afford one honor and R E S P E C T in the midst of a Push For Diversity Movement that amounts to, basically, the blackening and gaying up of pretty much every historically straight, white fictional character under the sun.

But don’t get me wrong. This author is not saying that Miles as a brotha has to or had to be or sound a certain way in order to be taken seriously as another kind of Spidey, a “Spider-Man for kids of color, adults of color,” as Bendis say. I mean please, far be it from me to tell peeps how they should speaking, let alone what kind of rap music is the type of rap music they want to listen to because it’s not Iggy Azalea or something. What I am saying is that if the point is to diversify, right? If today the consensus is that, say, #blacklivesmatter, or even that #alllivesmatter, that diversity matters, or that we should be celebrating difference in all of it’s forms and persuasions, then Miles, et al were opportunities for their creators to make centerstage historically ostracized, demonized, stigmatized, marginalized, disenfranchised, criticized aspects of real life equivalents that, for them, make it hard to just live their lives. It means putting at the forefront of these “all new, all different” super-peeps sensibilities and qualities traditionally seen as unacceptable, undesirable, though certainly not a basis for discrimination or their absence.

From the standpoint of comics, then, it means not just altering the way a given character looks but also the way the character talks, because how else are we who are reading to tell the difference between the the black and white one, especially if and while they’re in costume. Think Marshall McLuhan “the medium controls the message,” then. Performance – call it diversity – in comics is underpinned by a text-image binary, i.e., pictures plus thought and speech bubbles. Insight into who and what these characters are, want to and don’t want to be – or at least who the writers and illustrators want and don’t want them to be – is gleaned from from that intersection. In turn putting the spotlight on speech patterns and physical appearances. Usually diversity is limited to superficiality, whereby readers and creators substitute appreciating substance for appreciating skin grafts and sex changes, as if that’s all that make a person different, as if those’re the only grounds on which a person get discriminated against. They don’t go beyond epidermal or genital concerns, which fail to acknowledge the other factor to be taken into consideration, which’s how these characters are represented linguistically. Certainly an author’s voice is an author’s voice and ideologies and sensibilities clash all of the time. But what does it mean when a supposed “all new, all different” “Spider-Man for kids of color, adults of color” is blessed with a language ideology that reinforces a white is right dogmatic approach not just to language but also to ethnic performance? – that is, what is considered palatable.

Certainly ideologies and sensibilities vary; one homie’s experience isn’t necessarily equal to another no matter how alike they might be on whatever points of identification they might have. But if the point is to give certain peeps something to be proud of then fear shouldn’t dictate what a superhero is going to do, or how a superhero is going to behave, because I’d bet any money that if a superhero were to come crashing down to planet Earth right now only to be hit with all kinds of politics as to how to “superhero,” that superhero would come out her or his or its face saying, “Oh, I wish a human would.”

Symposium Anxiety

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The whole point of me creating this blog was to archive my thoughts, process, and ideas as a writer. As I write my novel I take moments, like snapshots, from my process and I document them. I don’t expect anyone to read it. Its mainly a reflection for me to read one day when I’m feeling like I have accomplished nothing.

Today is that day. I’m not sure if it is the way I woke up this morning or the looming fact that I only have 4 more weeks of class and then graduation will be upon me and I will begin to feel the pressure to put my masters degree to work. I feel as if I have gotten no where with what I am doing for this project. Yes, I have words on paper. Digital paper that adds up to 75 virtual pages. Long gone is the ink to paper, now it is the systematic tapping of keys on a keyboard that load Times Roman letters on to a white “page” that stares back at me from my computer screen.

I guess I am starting to sound like a depressing starving writer haha.

I figured out what my reading will be for the symposium. I’m very nervous about reading my work in front of a bunch of strangers. I hope I receive positive feedback because I chose a section of my book that is extremely personal. It was also hard to find a excerpt that was short and concise but makes the audience want me to read more. I’ll have to read it out loud and time myself to see how long it will take. I am going to take some time to write out what I want to say next week. I think all of our projects are important and deserve to be heard. So I am happy we are having the symposium but I just don’t know if my project is that important that people will want to listen.

Like I said, I’m feeling a little down today. I’m just hoping I can pick myself back up by next week and write something positive to say.

Oh, did I mention that I still can’t figure out a title for my novel? Feeling stuck isn’t fun.

**Update: This is the excerpt that I read at the Symposium.


The light turned on and Amanda’s eyes fluttered open. Through a hazy and foggy view she looked towards the door. Standing within the crack, her mom was watching her sleep. She stumbles across the room to her bed. She pulls back the comforter and slides into her Sleeping Beauty sheets.

During this Amanda says nothing. Her mom puts her arms around her and holds her body tight. That’s when she feels the dampness on her face. Cheek to cheek she can taste the salty tears as she rubs them off on to her. She whimpers and tries hard to hold back the tears but Amanda can feel her shudder underneath the warm blankets. Amanda decides to squeeze her back and that is when she lets it all go.

Hard sobs and shaking shoulders, her mom is breaking down. At this point it comes as no surprise when she opens her mouth to speak to her. She can smell the stale sour breath that she breathes onto her face as she whispers, “I am so sad.”

Amanda knows how this works. She knows that this charade will never end if she doesn’t answer her. Every night for the past few months her mom has come to her late at night looking for her daughter to make her feel better. She has come to her for reassurance. She has come to her so that she can cry.

“Why are you so sad?,” Amanda whispers back.

She tells her how she met a man. A nice man who is good to her. He takes her places and tells her she is pretty. A nice man who makes her happy. Amanda lets her mom go on and on, because she doesn’t realize that she has told this story countless times before. She asks her about her dad and if he is a nice man.

“Your father is a great man,” she explains.

“Then why doesn’t he make you happy?” she asks as her mom closes her eyes and cries harder.

“You wouldn’t understand Mandy. You are too young to know how love works,” explains her mom.

Amanda then thinks about her dad, who works two jobs just to feed his family and keep a roof over their heads. She believes that her father is a good person.

Amanda knows that her mom is blinded and can’t see that she already has a great man. As Amanda’s mom tells her that she wants to leave her dad Amanda can’t help but notice that there is no pain in her mother’s eyes. No remorse for the hurt she will cause if she walks out the door.

Now her daughter is crying and her mother has no idea that she is the one causing her daughter’s pain. She can’t see because she can only see her own pain and the situation that she is in. Amanda decides that the worst part in all of this is she doesn’t think her mom even cares about what she is doing to her family.

“Please don’t tell your father about our late night talks, ok?”

“I promise,” whispers Amanda.

She promises because she loves her more than life it self. She would never tell anyone their secrets because that’s what daughters do.

She’s laying in bed with her now, still sobbing. Amanda, scared and unsure of what to do lays still next to her mom. She realizes that her mom only cares about Amanda keeping her secret. She holds her mom’s hand and tells her that everything is going to be all right. As her mom cries Amanda can’t help but wonder why she has to always be the parent. She just graduated 5th grade, she doesn’t feel qualified for this. But how could she not take care of her mother. Her mother always took care of her when she was sick or hurt. This must be a way for her to repay the favor.

Amanda feels her mom’s breathing get heavy. The crying has stopped and she is certain that her mom has fallen asleep. Amanda wipes the tears from her mom’s face with her blanket. She pulls the covers up a little bit further so they cover both of them and Amanda joins her mom and falls back to sleep.