Narrative Essay


Comm/101


November 27, 2002


Everyone has someone who loves to embarrass him or her, right? Well, my mother is NO exception. My mom\'s method of embarrassment is not with pictures. It is with her mouth. What I mean by this is that my mom INSISTS on yelling at me in front of all of my friends.


When I was 14, three of my friends and I thought it would be a good idea to go to an underage dance club without asking our parents. We told our parents we were going to Mastorris, a diner where teenagers hang out.


Once at the club, I vividly recall sitting by myself watching my friends dance. The lights were phenomenal. Cute boys were everywhere, girls were dressed to a ďTĒ and the DJ was playing an uneven mix of house, techno, and underground music. After sitting down and getting a feel for my surroundings: I remember one of my favorite remix songs coming on. I looked around to see if there was any room left for me on the massive multi-tiered stage, but there was not. So, I thought it would be cool if I danced on the chair beside the DJ. While I was dancing, I spotted my mother walking through the double doors. She glared at me and I knew I was in trouble; therefore, being the bad girl that I was, I intentionally made things worse and defiantly turned around and showed off my dance moves. To my total surprise and mortification, I lost my balance and fell off the chair and flat on my face. What followed next was a scene from a bad soap opera. She grabbed me by my arm and lifted me up off the ground. Then she began to scold me. At that very instant, my motherís yell actually drowned out the dance music. The music instantaneously became background noise to my motherís scolding. To my horror, I looked around and everyone was looking at us.


I knew what I did was wrong, but I was extremely angry with my mother for months. How could she embarrass me in front of my peers? When I was younger, I did not understand why my mother could not just talk to me when I did something wrong. I did not understand my motherís fear and anger until the day my son did not come home from school on time. Many thoughts were running through my head. Where could he be? Is he okay? Am I going to see him again? What have I done? My emotions and thoughts were spiraling out of control. Not long after my panic attack my son came strolling down the sidewalk with 3 of his friends. Without hesitation, I berated him in front of all of his friends, just as my mother did to me years ago.


Although it took many years and a panicky experience with my own son, I can now see that my motherís yelling was a consequence of my bad behavior and her fear. She was worried about me, just as I was worried about my son. Keeping a child safe is instinctual and when I did not know where my son was fear set in and I was frantic. When I discovered my child was safe, my anxiety turned into fury. Especially when I found out that he was having fun and I was worrying. Experiencing this has made me realize that I should feel lucky that my Mom only embarrassed and scolded me in front of my friends because I should have gotten my butt whipped.