Spreading My Wings: Epilogue

I was helping my mother through some deep cleaning in the kitchen this year when I came across an old, yellowing notebook. Curious, I opened it, and I was surprised to see a rounder, more girly-looking version of my mother’s handwriting.

“Ma, what is this?” I asked. My mother came closer, took a look, and laughed. “Wow, that’s my diary from my first year of teaching after seminary,” she said. “I didn’t even remember that I kept a diary.”

“Can I read it?”

“Why not?” she said.

I could think of a few reasons why not. “Uh, maybe you wrote things about yourself that were private.”

My mother smiled. “I hope I’ve grown enough since then that that’s not me anymore.”