( A Memory )
When I was still a child, my mother would take me to the park that was near our house. To many that may not sound like much, but to me its all the fond memories that I have about my mother. Till this day, I have vague memories of my mother, working on the blackish gray counter tops that had been scattered all around the park. Pencil in hand and paper work in the other, and on top of that a serious face, I would look at her,puzzled with what she was do? Wondering why she was always writing. I would always ask her rhetorical questions like...
What are you doing?
Whats that?
Are you done yet?
Can you play with me? And so on...
Yet my mother stayed unperturbed, unmoved, unshaken, and amazingly not annoyed with the myriad of questions that I had bombarded her with. She would just smile and answer my questions no matter how rhetorical or repetitive they had gotten.
