MOM's FLYING SLIPPERS

 

Is   Is there anyone who doesn't know the pain of mother's slippers?
"Aahhh! Mom! Please don't hit! Don't hit, okay!"

I had done it again, and now I was facing my punishment. I wish I could say I endured proudly the consequences of my mischief, but my screams and tears begging for mercy would reveal my lie. What was my fault, really? All we had done was step into the neighbor’s garden. Since we were already there, we thought we might as well taste the deliciously fragrant strawberries. And, of course, after the strawberries, we decided to take a few apples as well. And since we had already begun with strawberries and apples, we figured we might as well eat some blackberries from the bushes. While we were eating the entire garden, we didn’t want the dog to bother us, so we caught the animal and tied tin cans to its tail. As the dog ran, the cans clattered against each other and, scaring the animal and making it run faster.

When I think about my mother’s slipper again, I wonder… Should she have beaten me more? Perhaps, I truly deserved it.
·       But even if she hit me, it wouldn’t have hurt. Wherever her hand landed, flowers would have bloomed. First purple, then green, then slowly fading back to the color of my skin…
 
·       Even when she shouted, my ears wouldn’t hurt. It was as if she was reciting poetry.  Words that sent shivers down my spine, a chilling melody that confirmed she had heard of my mischief.
 
·       Whenever she got angry at me, the sun would rise in my life- the sun that would burn my flushed skin. The anger which dried my lips, turned my face red with shame, and released the tears that wet my cheeks…
 
 
Wasn’t she a mother after all? She would beat and love at the same time. No one else had the slipper she had.
No matter where she threw it from, the slipper which found its way into my head as if it had a designated target.
The slipper whose soles were bent from being worn…
There was no slipper like it.
Every time it struck me; the slipper spoke to me.
 
“What will this child become when I am not here the day after?
Oh, what am I going to do with you. What if you take the wrong path?
If you could behave just for two minutes so I wouldn’t have to worry.
If only I knew your future would be fine, I wouldn’t ask for anything more.
There was no slipper like it.
Because there was no one like the one who wore it.
 
Would anyone ever hit someone out of fear, out of deep concern?
How could you let go of someone you had paid such a price for?
The one whose needs you put before your own, for whom you worked tirelessly,
Wasn’t she a mother after all? She would beat and love. No slippers in the world were quite like hers.
But what was the difference between raising a child and bringing one up?
What did it mean to be a mother?
How could she ever be sure that her child's future would be good?