Why I Love My Mom

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Davis Anderson writes, Why I love my mom.

Why I love my mom.When ever I feel alone, hurt, sad, or scared, I know I can always run into that big room at the end of the hall. My mom looks up from her book, sees my tears, and throws her arms out, welcoming me. I jump onto the giant bed, hugging my mom back. She’s always there for me, no matter what.Six in the morning, every other morning. I pull out my saxophone, reflecting the light. I play one scale, then the next and the next. I practice all my pieces, perfecting them. Exactly two floors up, my mom lays awake. She could run downstairs and tell me to be quiet. But instead, she gets ready for the day, and tells me how much she enjoyed listening to me. That afternoon, when I tell my mom I got the solo, she yells “woo hoo!” and embraces me. She always supports whatever I do, from photography to writing to saxophone to swimming. My mom is my biggest fan.I floss and brush my teeth. I crawl into bed and pull the covers over my face. I bury my face deep into the pillow. And cry. I cry and cry until my eyes have no more tears. I can’t sleep, I’m too sad, and no one knows it. Except a certain someone. She always knows. It’s a mother’s intuition. My mom walks into the room and closes the door. She sits on my bed and scratches my back. Then we talk. The minutes fly by as we discuss the reason for my tears. Finally, I feel better. Sure we’re both tired. And, sure I have a test tomorrow. But my mom is more important that that. My mom helps me through everything. She taught me how to walk and talk, and she’ll teach me everything else. I wouldn’t trade those hours of talking with her, late in the night, for anything.I love my mom.

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