My mother always knew what I could do.
And she pushed me beyond that.
She wanted to see me fall.
She wanted me to learn how to rise by myself.
I look back now and I can’t say that was very good parenting.
But it worked.
She knew what I could do.
She knew my limits.
And she pushed me beyond.
Making me do things I wasn’t comfortable doing.
Hoping that it would make me into a man.
Was it right?
Did it help me?
I think it did.
But I’ll be damned if I ever do something so callous to my own children.
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Categories: flash fiction