Your Mom, Your Dad & Your Brother Too

So I want to hear about your mom.

I want to hear about how strong your mom's hands are when you watch her rub the soap scum from the bathroom tiles. I want to know about your mom's mom and how the house smells when you come home and she has a roast in the oven and how quiet your dad is when he comes home from work and sighs. I want to know if your sister still calls you pestering you about who you are dating and when it comes to dating, I want to know about the last person who broke your heart and if you still think about it from time to time - even if you don't want to. I want to know how nervous you were when you asked the pretty girl that waited on your table if she would like to grab a drink sometime and how the floor shook when you couldn't contain your excitement about your younger brother's first touchdown.

I want to know this because I believe that the relationships we have with other people, especially our family, is the most important determinant of who we are at the very core. And if I ask about your family and how you were raised, then I know you are opening the door for me and welcoming me into your home - even if it is with hesitation and even if you looked several times through the peephole to make sure it is someone you recognize or trust. I want to know your story and if you tell me, even if it's just a preview or a teaser, then I am allowed to know a little more about your grace and grit and why you part your hair the way you do. I can learn how you figured out what you wanted to be - even if no one really figures out exactly who they want to be. Because I think the problem with conversations these days is that we talk without really listening and it all becomes a game of waiting for our turn to speak. But I could care less about turn-taking and manners if I can pay attention to your mannerisms when you talk about the queen-sized mattress you shared with your siblings growing up and the way you look down when you talk about the people you miss.

Because if you ask me, I can tell you that when my mom cleans the bathroom, it is on bended knees and she scrubs so hard and so aggressively that I smile and think to myself, "ain't nobody messing with my mom." And when I take the greyhound to go back home and there is Bun Rieu on the stove, everything feels warm and I feel grateful but guilty that I don't visit as often as I should. I can tell you that my dad is humble and hardworking to a fault and whenever he gets off work and doesn't say a word, I tell myself that 30 years is too long to be doing what he is doing. He deserves to take a break and enjoy his morning coffee and cigarette without worrying about a single goddamn thing. But God, I wish he would stop smoking. And I can tell you that my older brother is overprotective and when he asks me about who I am dating, I keep it short and simple because heaven forbid he finds out about the boy that took me out on that nice dinner and never called me back. But I learned that I should never worry about the person who didn't call me back because I can call home and know that someone will always pick up.

And I think you should call home more. But if you don't call because your mother, father, brother, sister are just phantoms of your distant past then that's OK and I hope you're not offended if I ask why. Because I can't help but wonder and I want to know the beginning, middle, and end of your story. And it doesn't have to end if you don't want it to, because I have time and if I don't have time I can try to make it. I promise that I can at least try to make discussing relationships just as engaging as numbers and figures. I can try to get it right this time around. So forgive me if I am wrong, but I believe it's your turn to speak and I'd really like to hear what you have to say.