Fuggedaboutit: A Dream Deferred

A Dream Deferred

by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over--

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

So, I've mentioned before what a kick-%$# cook my mom is, right? Well, she's been working on quite the project. I imagine that for her on the fulfillment scale, this is probably what it would be like for me to sit down and try hammering out a novel in about 20 years. It's a big deal.

I've lately come more to appreciate the sacrifices my mother has made for me over the years. I don't mean 'appreciate' as in be grateful, because I think I've always been aware and thankful of the fact that my life means her personal life has been mostly on hold. What I mean is that I am understanding that sacrifice now on a more cognitive level. What it means to sort of be a "non" person. The person who makes everyone else's lives happen. Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes it feels like the greatest relief and adventure.

My mother was determined to beat the Empty Nest Blues. And in her flair for fun and creativity, she enrolled in a culinary school--the nearest one being well more than an hour away. For a couple years she woke up crazy, crazy early and drove to that school. (It must also be noted that in true "mom" fashion, she chose to not go one semester to help ME out with becoming a mom.) Degree in hand, she got a couple internships, learned her craft, and now she's doing THIS.

So proud of and happy for my Mama. Check it out. She's awesome. A raisin in the sun? Fuggedaboutit. I think it's pretty safe to say that her deferred dream has exploded.