Dear Mommy:

I always felt like a burden to you and Dad. I was never coordinated enough, pretty enough, confident enough. I was clumsy; always falling and hurting myself, breaking things because I was curious and heavy handed. You were such a young mother and you and Dad always worked so hard; I tried to help by cooking and cleaning up; however, my help always seemed to cause a bigger mess and made you impatient and stern.

Later, I learned that you and Dad married because you were pregnant with me. The underlying disappointment I felt made sense. You and Dad knew each other in Jackson as school children, but found each other in Chicago as young adults. I remember you said you worked as an office clerk and Dad was a college student visiting his family for the summer; he was an up and coming jazz drummer. You were both so young with boundless possibilities ahead of you. I happened, you got married, then Dad shipped out to Vietnam as a Marine to provide for his young family; you were left with a tiny, screaming newborn who sensed your fear of Dad not returning home. Thankfully, he did.

Dad moved us to North Carolina far away from family after his tour; I was a toddler then. I sensed you were lonely most of the time. Sometimes, I'd hear you and Dad argue: you overspent at the grocery store or Dad invited someone to dinner without consulting you first. There were some good times, though: you both shared your love of music with me. I loved to sing along and (awkwardly) dance whenever you played music: Marvin Gaye, The Jackson Five, Tom Jones, Three Dog Night, Simon and Garfunkel. It was just the three of us until my brother came along.

Then, you and Dad decided to return to Jackson. Dad worked nights and finished his degree as a Science/Engineering major during the day. You and Dad had our family home built and we got a dog. Later, a baby sister completed our family. Occasionally, you both worked long hours of overtime to give us material things to make up for the many hours spent away from us. Most of your arguments stemmed from overspending and friction from extended family members who lived near us. I wondered if you were ever happy being together. Then, I'd see you kiss each other goodbye before leaving for work. You cooked things you detested because they were Dad's favorites. I'd hear you both laughing so hard at things only you the two of you understood. You kept the house clean and had a job outside the home, even though he did not want you to work. At times, you weren't satisfied with your lot in life. You began taking night courses. We complained about the extra chores and Dad didn't like you coming home late and thought you were "wasting your time," so you stopped. I regret that I wasn't supportive of you.

Sometimes, I wonder what your life would have been like if I hadn't been born. Grandma wanted you to marry a doctor, lawyer or professional athlete; it was no secret she felt Dad wasn't good enough for you. I wished that she would have wanted more for you than to be a pampered housewife. Perhaps you would have finished college. You said were not a good student, but you're one of the smartest people I know. You read people well and you have a compassionate, generous soul. I got my love of books and writing from you because you are such an avid reader. While you were in high school and college, you were a beauty queen, which seemed both a blessing and a curse. I was never in the running as a beauty queen, but you taught me how to be inwardly beautiful, which is what I passed on to my daughters.

I love you, Mommy. I hope you're proud to have me as your daughter.