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Baby Maria

I was 3-years-old and I needed surgery. I was scared. But I knew it would be OK. I knew because my mom was with me. I remember sitting on her lap in the hospital. We were sitting in a dark hallway. It wasn't warm and it sure wasn't friendly. But my mom was all the security I needed. I knew if she were there, no one would hurt me.

Mom had packed an overnight bag, one for me and one for her. When I got ready for bed, so did she. I fell asleep in her arms.

The surgery was successful.

Ten years later, I was scared again. We had moved from the Bronx to the suburbs. I was 12 and adapting wasn't easy. What was really tough was breaking into the local clique. The neighborhood kids weren't too keen on admitting a new city kid into their group.  

One afternoon I was riding my bicycle. I was about a half-mile from home. A group of boys jumped out from behind the bushes and started taunting me. One boy started swinging. I don't know how she knew, but she did. Mom appeared out of nowhere sharing a few choice words. The boys never bothered me again. In fact, within a few weeks we were all playing baseball in my backyard. Mom invited everyone in for cold drinks.

My mom doesn't understand why she should be touted as "special."

I guess that explains why she is.