Shit! I turned fifty! That was the title of the book that my mom was reading. Fifty was to her, like to many other women, not a number but a life alteration. Fifty, not forty nine or fifty one, was the ultimate representation that she have lived half a century: she was officially old. Although my mother might hate her age, I found her more fascinating than ever.
Every August ten we commemorate our country’s “shout of independence”. The last Independence Day there was another kind of yell in my house. I found my mother, in front of the mirror, getting ready for her birthday party. She was trying to fit in a black, classic, straight cut, Audrey Hepburn’s style dress. Although, seeing her all stressed-up, it was easy for me to recognize her elegance: the lovely movement of her hands, her delicate manners and the glow of her teeth that overcame the one of the pearls she had in her necklace. Yes, my mother has gained some pounds but with them she has acquired a graceful way of doing even the simplest things.
While I was emerged in these thoughts, my mom began putting her make up on. We saw each other through the mirror. Her red mate just painted lips smiled at me. I glimpsed some wrinkles like pencil draws around her eyes. “They are such a problem” she said pointing at them. “But as in everything in life there is a solution”, she added. Suddenly, I had memories of her visiting every doctor in the city when her sister was sick, learning to use Skype to communicate with my father when he was abroad, or sending me a lunch in order to eat healthier when I was already in college “What is it now?”I asked. Botox, she answered and the smile turned into a laugh. I admire my mother because she always finds the answer for any big or a little problem.
It was getting late; my mother put her hair up in a bun and I noticed some grays. The silver, brilliant thin lines seemed strangers in the darkness of her head. Only in that moment I knew the reason why, even she dyed her hair, it remained the same color: she only covered her white hair. She become aware of the hour; she took her purse, put some perfume and left the room so fast that the smell of her perfume left like the breeze. A minute later, she came back and said: “Goodbye son” and she gave me a warm kiss. My mom is more loving and kinder with the passing of the years.
Some days after my mom’s birthday and when she has finished her book, I had a chat with her. “It is not that bad being fifty”, she began, with her hazelnut eyes wide opened and her smooth and architectural eyebrows lifted. She took my hand. Her hand felt warm as a glove in winter and as soft as velvet. “I feel I am great even with grays in my hair, some extra fat and these wrinkles”. “That makes you greater” I thought. At that moment, she placed the book in the drawer of the night table and when it was almost closed I could only read on the book’s cover: (…) it! I turned fifty!
Every August ten we commemorate our country’s “shout of independence”. The last Independence Day there was another kind of yell in my house. I found my mother, in front of the mirror, getting ready for her birthday party. She was trying to fit in a black, classic, straight cut, Audrey Hepburn’s style dress. Although, seeing her all stressed-up, it was easy for me to recognize her elegance: the lovely movement of her hands, her delicate manners and the glow of her teeth that overcame the one of the pearls she had in her necklace. Yes, my mother has gained some pounds but with them she has acquired a graceful way of doing even the simplest things.
While I was emerged in these thoughts, my mom began putting her make up on. We saw each other through the mirror. Her red mate just painted lips smiled at me. I glimpsed some wrinkles like pencil draws around her eyes. “They are such a problem” she said pointing at them. “But as in everything in life there is a solution”, she added. Suddenly, I had memories of her visiting every doctor in the city when her sister was sick, learning to use Skype to communicate with my father when he was abroad, or sending me a lunch in order to eat healthier when I was already in college “What is it now?”I asked. Botox, she answered and the smile turned into a laugh. I admire my mother because she always finds the answer for any big or a little problem.
It was getting late; my mother put her hair up in a bun and I noticed some grays. The silver, brilliant thin lines seemed strangers in the darkness of her head. Only in that moment I knew the reason why, even she dyed her hair, it remained the same color: she only covered her white hair. She become aware of the hour; she took her purse, put some perfume and left the room so fast that the smell of her perfume left like the breeze. A minute later, she came back and said: “Goodbye son” and she gave me a warm kiss. My mom is more loving and kinder with the passing of the years.
Some days after my mom’s birthday and when she has finished her book, I had a chat with her. “It is not that bad being fifty”, she began, with her hazelnut eyes wide opened and her smooth and architectural eyebrows lifted. She took my hand. Her hand felt warm as a glove in winter and as soft as velvet. “I feel I am great even with grays in my hair, some extra fat and these wrinkles”. “That makes you greater” I thought. At that moment, she placed the book in the drawer of the night table and when it was almost closed I could only read on the book’s cover: (…) it! I turned fifty!
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