Is it too late to understand my mother?

A longing to absolve the guilt of shunning my mother, forgetting she was a girl once.

14, on the brink of adolescence, excited for my first restaurant birthday party.

A close friend was turning 15, and he had invited most of the class. Only I knew how long and hard it took to convince my mother it would be okay because other girls would be there. As I sat at my door, waiting for my father to pull the car around and take in the last bit of the sun, little did I know my mother had chills running down her spine. After a 10-minute altercation, she said something I couldn’t fully register.

“Don’t trust guys so much. It’s hard for women even to trust their fathers these days.”

“What the hell?” I just wanted to meet my friends and have my silly little party outside school. Why was I suddenly being pitted against an entire gender, even my father? Disgust churned in my stomach. I wanted to cry at the thought of not being able to trust the men in my family, but I pushed it down. I wouldn’t have let it spoil my evening.

18, a college fresher, the first taste of real freedom.

New friends, new experiences, and a world beyond the curfews at home. I sent my family some group photos, proud and defiant…