When I Got Older

When I was a young girl, I grew up in a rural small town. My mother and father owned a modest farm, and I was their only farmhand. I never minded getting up at daylight with my father to pet the horses or collect the eggs. To me, it was fun, like a game. When my father was home on the weekends, he would let me drive the tractor and ride the horse he was breaking for someone. I got good at being a daddy’s girl.

Sometimes at night, after my parents thought I’d went to sleep, I would hear them talking loudly in the kitchen. I would always try to listen, but I could never understand my father’s voice, and my mother’s was stifled by her breathing. 

Only when I got older did I realize why. 

When I was five, my father left and never came back. I was upset because my mother wasn’t. She got hard after that. She never laughed at my jokes, she never let me sleep in. I started to dislike getting up at daylight with her to feed the horses and collect the eggs. It became a chore that I had no say in. On the weekends, my mother would spend her time in the house. She would never let me inside, so I would play outside a lot by myself. I got good at letting the chickens out of their coop.

Sometimes at night, after she thought I’d went to sleep, I’d hear her talking quietly on the phone. I would always try to listen, but I could never understand what she was saying, who she was talking to, or why she was crying. 

Only when I got older did I realize why. 

When I was ten, we left the farm and never went back. I was upset because my only home had been taken from me, and my mother didn’t seem to care. She moved us to the city and we had our own apartment. I started to see her smile more, and she seemed happy for a bit. Her moods were quick to change, though. I would still get woken up at daylight, either by noisy cars or my mother moving around the apartment cleaning. On the weekends she would set up playdates with my schoolmates to get me out of the apartment. I got good at navigating the city. 

Sometimes at night, after she thought I’d went to sleep, I’d hear her laughing quietly with someone else in the apartment. I would always try to listen, but could never understand what he was saying to my mother; they would only whisper, and never talked for very long. 

Only when I got older did I realize why. 

When I was sixteen, I discovered boys and never went back. I was madly in love with a boy named Thomas. He was good looking, athletic, and popular. I would wake up at daylight to get to school early so I could spend time with him, and I would usually try to hang out with him after the bell released us. I never wanted to go home, because my mother was never there. When she did come home, she sat at the kitchen table with bills spread across it and her head in her hands. It was a depressing sight I didn’t want Thomas to see. On the weekends, Thomas and I would hang out at his place. I got good at lying to my mother about my whereabouts.

Late at night, after I was sure my mother was asleep, I would sneak out to go hang with Thomas and his friends. I knew the coast was clear if I left my room and didn’t hear sobs coming from down the hall. Every night she laid in her bed listening carefully for me to return.

Only when I got older did I realize why.  

When I was seventeen, Thomas left and never came back. I was angry because he left me with a child. My mother was my only saving grace. She acted ecstatic and even decorated a room for my coming baby. I would wake up at daylight sick to my stomach, but my mother was always there to hold my hair back and pat my forehead once it was over. On the weekends, she would take me out into the city and shop for baby items with me, even though we didn’t have the money. We got good at communicating. 

Sometimes at night, after she thought I’d went to sleep, I’d hear her praying in the other room. I listened carefully, but could never understand why she was talking to God.

Only when I got older did I realize why. 

Now I’m twenty-six and watching my daughter release the chickens from their coop. It’s barely past daylight, yet she’s up and moving. To her, it’s fun, like a game. On the weekends I make sure to let her sit in my lap while I drive the tractor and only let her ride the kid’s pony I bought just for her. She’s getting good at being a momma’s girl.

Sometimes at night, after I’m sure she’s gone to sleep, I sit at my kitchen table talking quietly with my mother on the phone. I make sure to thank her for everything she’s done for me, even if when I was little I didn’t understand. 

Now that I’ve gotten older, I realize why. 

My father was a reckless man who let me do reckless things. He was selfish and abusive and abandoned his wife and daughter. My mother tried her best to keep us at the farm, but she couldn’t afford the bills. When we moved to the city, she tried to rebuild her life with other men, but none were good for me. She worried about the bills, but never let any of it affect me. Even when my son’s father abandoned me, even when we didn’t have the money to take care of a baby, my mother was there, ready to help her daughter thrive as a single mother, just as my mother had done. 

Now that I’m older, I realize everything she went through and why she did what she did. 

I can only hope that when my daughter gets older, she’ll realize too.