Everything My Mother Taught Me

by Alice Hoffman

She was the sort of person who saw only herself and her shadow, and the rest of us disappeared in the bright sunlight.

He was kindhearted and trusting, two qualities I did not inherit.

“Did you want something?” she would ask. Yes, I felt like saying. A mother.

Naturally, she didn’t ask my opinion, and if she had, I wouldn’t have answered.

“I didn’t know if I could speak even if I tried.”

I shrugged and said nothing. A woman like my mother shouldn’t have children.

Whenever I found a white stone, I thought of my father, and sometimes I imagined him sitting beside me, watching the glory of the sea.

was so unaccustomed to such emotions it took some time before I realized I was happy.

wished he could take off his shoes and climb over the rocks and wave to me and that he would be here in this world once again, if only for a few hours.

I suppose this is what they considered to be love.

I wasn’t certain what she meant or why she would want my advice. Perhaps she didn’t want an answer, for she was asking someone who was mute by choice and therefore clearly had nothing to say. Or perhaps she valued my judgment.

An argument could mean many things to many people and affect us all.

She feared the man who crept into her bed early in the morning, when he was done with my mother.

I think my father would have been proud of me.

I understood why my father loved the sea and why he had left it. I closed my eyes and went through a list of everything I wished I could thank him for giving me. Patience, loyalty, trust, and hopefully, in time, kindness.